


Ozone

by Deancebra



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Magic, Anal Sex, Angst, Author does not like John Winchester, Blow Jobs, Castiel is Older Than Dean Winchester, Fantasy AU, Fingering, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Mage!Dean, Magic, Masturbation, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Inaccuracies regarding scar healing, Mentions of child death / talk about past child death, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Power!Bottom, Sick!Dean, Sickness, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Teacher-Student Relationship, Topping from the Bottom, bottom!Dean, explicit content, mage!Castiel, sorta - Freeform, talk about suicide, wild magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:08:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 38,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25747912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deancebra/pseuds/Deancebra
Summary: A young magic user who wants desperately to live. A jaded recluse who has forgotten what living means. They’re each other’s only chance.Dean’s wild magic is killing him. The mage guilds have given up on him, and it’s only a matter of time before he dies in a spectacular, catastrophic bang. His only hope is an exiled wizard who lives in seclusion—and is rumored to have lost his mind.The years alone on his hilltop estate have not been good for Castiel Novak. After the magical accident that disfigured him and nearly destroyed the village, he drifts through his days, a wraith trapped in memories and depression. Until a stricken young man collapses on his driveway, one who claims Castiel is his last chance. For the first time in fifteen years, Castiel must make a choice—leave this wild mage to his fate or take him in and try to teach him, which may kill them both. The old Castiel, brash and commanding, wouldn’t have hesitated. Castiel the exile isn’t sure he can find the energy to try.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 20
Kudos: 196
Collections: Destiel Harlequin Challenge 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Summary is blatantly copied and edited from the originally claimed summary. The original is called "The Mage on the Hill". 
> 
> This piece is written for the awesome destiel harlequin challenge. I knew when I saw the summary that I needed to claim it and write it. I love this challenge so much. 
> 
> Please mind the tags! If I have forgotten a tag, please let me know so I can add it. 
> 
> People I owe one hell of a thank you: [Kitmistry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitmistry) for being my chearleeder and plot helper whenever I got stuck and [elephino_forthehalibut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elephino_forthehalibut/pseuds/elephino_forthehalibut) for doing the beta work and saving ya all for the worst of my horrendous grammar. All mistakes are still my own. 
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments! I am happy to finally be writing again and working on something creative.

It had started as yet another beautiful day, the sun slowly emerging in the east, banishing the cold of the night in a bright array of colors that should warm even the coldest of souls. Barely a cloud on the sky hindered the appearance of the bright ball as it moved it’s way up.

Or so Castiel supposed.

He had not seen the sun emerge for years. He had not cared to drag himself out of bed that early since… well then, he supposed. Preferring to hide in the night where he would not receive pitying looks from his staff, Castiel was never up early enough to see the sun rise. It did not matter that only Ellen was left on his payroll, the others having left one by one until only she remained, loyal as always.

Squinting out through his window he estimated that the sun had passed zenith hours ago. It still left too many hours of daylight, too many hours when people would be up and working.

He sighed heavily.

The spring sun had already heated his bedroom more than he preferred. It would be time soon to move to his northern quarters.

Slowly he opened the shutters, letting his eyes adjust to the assault of the bright sunlight. It was almost painful, even though he moved the shutters with the speed of an old, tired man.

Blinking like a suddenly blinded animal he opened the window fully, allowing in the chill air. Just for a moment he allowed himself to breathe deeply, stretching his ribcage out as he inhaled the scent of sun, air, dirt and plants springing to life.

He did not anticipate the faint scent of ozone. 

Frowning he looked outside. Not a cloud in sight. Nothing that should make the air outside smell like a storm was moving in on his estate.

It was the strangest thing.

Closing his eyes again, relaxing his body and focusing on his sense of smell once more, Castiel inhaled, entirely expecting the air to smell like the beautiful spring day it was.

But no, the sharp stench was still there. Weak enough that he could almost write it off as a mistake, as his senses playing a trick on his mind, but he knew better than to dismiss what he sensed. He had dismissed his intuition before and paid gravely for his mistakes.

Looking out the window again, like that would answer his questions, Castiel shook his head. Insanity was repeating the same thing and expecting a different outcome, after all.

Leaving the window opened just enough to allow a bit of air circulation, he ventured down into the kitchen. It was unlikely that Ellen was still around, as she knew he preferred being alone. She tended to prepare foods he could reheat once he got up. They rarely saw one another.

His steps echoed down the halls, an almost confident sound. Knowing he was alone he had no problems walking like that, drawing attention to himself like he would have once felt fine doing in public as well.

Castiel’s day passed without anything of interest happening. He reheated himself a meal from what had been prepared for him, he tended to his plants, he read a bit in the library.

If it wasn’t for the persistent scent of ozone, like a storm coming, it would have been a completely ordinary and boring day. But it was there, haunting him whenever he passed an open window or ventured outside, reminding him that something was off.

The sky remained clear and blue throughout the afternoon. Not even when the sun started sinking towards the horizon did clouds start to gather like he would have expected. The wind was equally calm. But the scent of ozone was growing in strength. 

Castiel wondered. Maybe it was the calm before the storm, it was heard of, after all. But he wasn’t feeling the energy of lightning gathering, wasn’t feeling the pressure changing in the atmosphere that almost never failed to make him a bit out of breath. It did not quite make sense.

It was odd, was what it was. He had no reasonable explanations as to what was going on. He wanted to remain rational about it, but something irked him, something made the hairs on his neck stand as if his body understood something he did not. Seeing as he could not identify what the stench meant, Castiel tried to ignore it, to kill the uneasy feeling in his stomach. He was not entirely successful in that.

He was just about to close the last of the greenhouses for the night when he heard steps in the gravel. Something, someone was walking towards the front doors of his house. Castiel stopped dead in his tracks, listening. There was no mistaking the sound. Someone was moving, someone was hauling their feet like…

The sound stopped.

Then the gravel crunched as if something heavy hit it, all at once.

Ozone was clouding his brain. Ozone was stinking up his garden, his greenhouse, his safe place.

Castiel finally understood why his body was so on edge.

It wasn’t the scent of a storm coming. It was the stench of magic running loose, barely contained by a human body. It was the stench of a catastrophe waiting to happen.


	2. Chapter 2

Later Castiel would try to deny how long it had taken him to lock up the greenhouse (for the safety of people, he told himself, who maybe would stumble into one and come across a poisonous plant) and go towards his driveway. Shame would fill his body every time he thought about it. Shame for how fearful he was. Shame for considering running towards his chambers to get a coat to hide his face. Shame for not hurrying as soon as he realized that what he had heard was the sound of a body dropping.

The old Castiel would not have hesitated.

But he wasn’t that person anymore. He was someone more cowardly.

As he hesitantly moved towards his driveway it became painfully clear that someone had indeed passed out in his gravel. The stench of ozone became stronger the closer he moved to the unconscious body. Had whomever it was fallen dead, Castiel would likely be too. Wild magic like that uncontained… it would destroy, create chaos. He knew better than anyone the havoc it could create. 

His scars ached at the thought. 

Wild magic wasn’t evil. It was just heavily loaded energy.

He swallowed, moving closer towards the pile of oddly placed human. The sun was setting quickly, making him squint as he tried to focus.

Everything in him screamed to turn around, to run away, to hide from the catastrophe waiting to happen. The unconscious mage in front of him would not last much longer.

Not without help.

His heart was beating as if he had been running, his throat tight with something he could not identify.

He was able. He had worked so hard to be able.

Even if he had never done so before. Surely... Surely he could do it, right? He knew all the theory, knew exactly what to do. He could call upon magic, use it to drain the excess that was close to pouring out of the mage in a blast.

But Castiel swallowed. He hesitated. He didn’t want to touch the mage in front of him, did not want him to be his problem. But the kid obviously was in his driveway for a reason. Someone had directed him there. There was no way he had found the way on his own, Castiel’s estate was purposely too secluded for that.

Truth be told he felt as if he were about to vomit. He hated whoever had directed the mage towards him. Hated that it was now his burden to bear. Hated that his miserable life could end should he make the wrong decision or not be as strong as he had once been.

Had the mage been conscious Castiel would have asked for his consent, but for very obvious reasons he could not. He had no idea how much longer the frail skin of a human could hold back the level of magic he sensed in the air around them.

Probably not very long, considering how it had already rendered the mage unconscious. How the stench of ozone seemed to grow stronger by the minute.

Biting his lip until the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth, Castiel gently turned the mage to his back. His face was littered with small cuts from the gravel and Castiel felt sorry for him, that he had not passed out somewhere softer.

With shaking hands he opened the mages cloak, then slowly unbuttoned the top of his shirt. It had been too long since he had last been this close to another human being. His hands were shaking.

A wave of dizziness threatened to overtake him, making his body sway to the left. Deep breaths didn’t seem to help, not with how heavy the ozone was, not with how he felt like he was breathing in uncontrollable magic.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to the mage.

He pushed the shirt down over the mage's shoulder, not wanting to get too close to his heart or his organs, yet needing to stay close enough to his center to draw out the magic effectively.

The skin was clammy and burning underneath his cold fingertips. There was no reaction from the mage as he settled his hand over the mage’s left deltoid muscle, gripping him tightly.

Closing his eyes, Castiel allowed his own magic to surface, feeling an odd sense of relief at how it was thrumming underneath his skin, strong as always.

Ancient Latin passed his lips as easily as if it had been his mother’s tongue.

Magic seeped from his hand, into his wrist. It was like a dam broken, like a stack of sticks trying to keep back the ocean.

Someone screamed. Belatedly, he realized it was him. He was screaming.

Castiel had never touched magic that powerful. He had thought it a fairy tale, something impossible. No one should have that much power. No one could contain that much energy.

It was no wonder the mage was sick and unconscious and close to death in his gravel.

He could feel his skin heating, his veins on fire as if his blood was starting to boil. Screaming in agony he turned his face towards the sky, praying, hoping it would work.

He just needed…

For a moment he wondered if he had taken on too much, if this hubris of thinking he could help would finally be his death. He found himself okay with that. If he died being half the man he used to be, he would die happier than he had been for a long while.

Peace in his mind, Castiel managed to breathe for the first time since walking his own gravel. It felt like eternity, felt like the agony was banished just long enough to clear his mind.

“Tonitrum!” he yelled out, lifting his free hand in command.

The magic coursed through his veins, and an earcracking thunderclap made him laugh. He allowed the magic to drain through him until heavy rain had soaked his coat, lightning bolts dancing above them as if to celebrate him.

He felt alive.

…

Castiel slowed the stream of magic between them gently, knowing very well what could happen if he severed their connection abruptly. The mage seemed to breathe with more ease but was still unconscious.

Even with the amount of wild energy released into the thunderstorm, Castiel knew he had barely made a dent in what the mage contained. It was maddening, that nature had somehow allowed one person that amount of power. The mage would know no limits. 

Once he was able to sever the connection and move his hand, the rain had soaked through his cloak. His teeth were clattering painfully.

“N-now would be a g-g-great time to wake up,” he told the unconscious mage.

There was no response. Not that he expected any. Had the mage been able to wake up he would likely have done so during the painful process of having his magic drained against his will.

Castiel sighed, frowning, wondering what he was supposed to do with the man in front of him. He was not a weak man by any means, but carrying someone his own size?

Had he not drained his magic alongside the mage’s he could have levitated him, but that was no longer an option. Draining more magic risked rendering himself unconscious, and that would not help them any. It would be useless at best and dangerous at worst trying to use more magic after what he had just done to help the mage.

He sighed, for what else could he do? He couldn’t drag the mage over the gravel, that would be downright cruel, nor could he leave an already fevered man in the heavy rain for a moment longer than necessary.

If someone were to ask him afterwards how he got from kneeling in the gravel to standing with his arms full of unconscious mage, he would not be able to answer. There was no rational explanation to how he was capable after what he had just done, no reason he should have been able to get them both into safety.

Castiel stumbled towards his chambers.

The mage hit his bed with a thump.

At least his landing was softer than out on the gravel, Castiel figured. He sat down at the edge of the bed, breathing heavily, thankful he had shut the shutters late in the afternoon as well as started the fire. His chambers had a comfortable heat, although it was hard to feel through his soaked clothes.

A quick glance at the mage confirmed that he was indeed still unconscious.

“I will change into some dry clothes myself, and then I shall see what I have that you could fit into. I hope you’ll find it in yourself to forgive me for the inappropriateness of it all, but it is not like you presented me with much choice, passing out in my driveway, was it?” he asked the mage.

There was no answer.

With a frustrated sigh Castiel opened his closet, rummaging to find two sets of dry, soft clothes. The mage was dressed in old garments. They seemed to have been in decent quality once, but were worn thin in places. Not that it mattered, old or new, it would still be a bother to get the clothes off the mage.

He changed quickly, drying his hair in old linen, not bothering to search for an actual towel.

“I truly am sorry,” he repeated, before taking off the mage’s shoes, socks and pants. As it turned out, getting wet clothes off someone unconscious and unable to help was difficult and physically taxing. Castiel wished he had foreseen that problem before calling upon rain and thunder. 

All thoughts of keeping a bit of the mage’s dignity and privacy were destroyed by how soaked his undergarments were. “You could not have kept them out of the rain, could you?” Castiel asked, shaking his head. He already felt like he was violating the young man in front of him, and having him naked there on his bed really didn’t help.

What helped even less was that the mage was clearly young, well built and in excellent physical shape. Castiel knew that no one looking like that would choose him as a bedfellow or lover if able to consent, which made it oddly more difficult.

“I’m going to take off your undergarments now, cover your lower body and then undress your upper,” he told the mage as if he could hear it. Maybe it didn’t matter to the unconscious man, but it made Castiel feel a bit better to state his intentions. It felt more respectful that way, somehow more sober and decent, even though there was nothing decent about the soon to be half naked young man in his bed.

He realized he was stalling. 

“I truly am sorry,” he said before rolling the mage ever so slightly up on his right side to slide the pants and undergarment down the left. Then he rolled the mage to the other side, repeating the process until he was completely free of cold, clammy fabric. Castiel very deliberately kept his gaze on the wet cloth in his hands.

Castiel hurriedly covered the mage’s privates with an old piece of linen before drying his skin gently with another. Then he proceeded to try to dress his lower body, making sure he was never completely exposed.

At first, dressing the mage was a struggle. The man was limp, just laying there like a sack of potatoes, completely unable to help. Getting his still damp feet into a pair of loose, wooly socks was easy enough, but the undergarment and the flowy linen pants proved difficult, even though Castiel had chosen the easiest clothing he had in his possession.

“You are not going to help, are you?” he asked. He had gotten things successfully up around the mages knees, but was now struggling with the logistics of getting things higher.

After much trial and error he found out that placing the mage's feet against his shoulder gave him enough leverage he could easily drag the pants and undergarments down over muscular thighs… not that he noticed such a thing as whether or not the mage had muscular thighs. By rotating the mage he managed to get the pants up the same way he had gotten them off.

Proud of himself he tightened the pants with a small bow in front.

Then to the wet tunic. Castiel squinted at it, wondering if the mage would be terribly upset if he just happened to cut it off him.

He decided against it. He had already violated the young man’s privacy, he need not destroy his few possessions as well.

It proved easier than he had thought to get off the tunic and dry the mage off the best he could. The mage's upper body was littered in scars, most of them old and white. Castiel couldn’t help but notice that the young man was in excellent physical shape, if on the skinnier side, ribs and hip bones protruding through the skin in an unhealthy manner.

The young mage was running quite a fever. Castiel noticed whenever his fingers brushed the young man's skin. It made him frown in worry.

He had originally grabbed a long-sleeved tunic, but decided against it. The mage would stay underneath the covers for the time being, so Castiel saw no use in fighting with floppy arms once again.

Once the mage was dressed to his satisfaction, Castiel realized that the part of the bed he was lying in had absorbed the wetness from his clothes.

With a sigh he maneuvered the mage to the other side of the bed.

“You are going to stay asleep while I get some dinner,” he told the unconscious man in his bed. For a moment he waited, as if the mention of food would be what got the mage to wake up again.

It was not. Castiel found that oddly disappointing. 

Castiel only stayed in the kitchen long enough to reheat himself some soup Ellen had left for him. The cold from the rain had soaked him to his bones, and even with dry clothing he still felt like his bones were made of ice. Usually he would not bring food to his chambers, hating how it made the air feel stuffy and thick, but he did not like the idea of leaving the mage all by himself for too long.

Castiel pushed open the door with his shoulder, balancing a tray with two bowls of soup, bread and water easily.

The mage was still out of it. Hadn’t even moved.

“I brought you food. It is just soup,” he said, placing the tray on his small desk. “I know it is simple, but you seem like you could use something in you. I also doubt your digestive system would be able to handle anything heavier.”

No reaction.

Castiel sighed and grabbed his bowl. Sitting cross legged in front of the fire he started eating, eyes staring into the flames that danced before him in a happy fashion. If the mage moved he would hear it, and until then he allowed himself to enjoy the warmth from the flames kissing his skin like a lover's gentle touch. 

The storm he, they, had created was still going strong outside. He could hear the shutters sigh in protest after a strong wind threatened to rip them open, could hear the rain smash against the walls.

He hoped his greenhouses would still stand in the morning. They had done so before; they should do so again.

Once his bowl was emptied, his bread eaten and his water gone, Castiel could feel himself growing tired.

“You are in my bed, you know,” he grumbled at the mage. “I know I put you there myself. But it was close by and I figured…” he shook his head, unable to remember what exactly he was going to say.

“I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but I am going to sleep in here. I do not feel safe leaving you here, not with how feverish you are.”

Yawning Castiel stood, grabbing himself a mattress from one of the chambers close by. It smelled faintly dusty and like it hadn’t been used in years.

Castiel supposed it had not. Who would have slept in it?

He found fresh linens for the mattress and stoked the fire before rinsing his mouth for the night. He preferred going to bed with teeth that did not feel like wool.

Then he checked upon the mage. He was hot to the touch, but not dangerously so. Not for the first time Castiel wished he knew more about human anatomy and illness and health. He supposed being unconscious was not unfair, not after the amount of trauma the mage’s body and mind had been through. It was concerning nevertheless. 

“I am going to move you now, so you won’t choke in your sleep,” Castiel said. He gently maneuvered the mage so that he was on his side, back supported by pillows and legs bent so he would not tip over unless he moved with purpose.

His back was screaming in pain when he finally straightened. He smiled wryly. Maybe he was too old to carry around people like that. His back certainly seemed to think so.

…

If Castiel had hoped for a quiet night, he was sorely disappointed. He woke up the first time because the fire had started to die, leaving the room chillier than he liked it. Once the flames were happily flickering again he checked upon the mage, relieved when his fever had not seemed to change since Castiel went to sleep.

Castiel drifted off to the sound of shutters dancing in the storm. It was still going strong outside his estate. He then listened to the low crackle from the fireplace and the sound of another person breathing somewhere close.

He had entirely forgotten how calming the latter could be.

The second time he woke he did not understand at first. Cracking his eyes open just a sliver it was easy to see that the fire was still going. Lifting his head ever so slightly he could tell it was still dark outside, and judging by the sludgy feeling in his head and body, it was likely no more than an hour or two since he had last woken.

With a sigh he turned around, closing his eyes, fully intending to go back to sleep.

But there it was again. The feeling of something not being quite right. The nagging that had woken him in the first place.

Castiel stayed still, listened.

The mage made a small sound. It was almost like listening to a wounded animal.

Adrenaline replaced the sludgy feeling. Castiel pushed himself up, ignoring how his arms and back protested over the movement. He really was getting older.

In the low light from the fire it was obvious that the mage was still out of it, asleep, unconscious, Castiel didn’t know, but something had changed. Lines had appeared between his brows, dragging them closer to his nose, his mouth turned down into a frown.

There it was again, the sound.

Castiel realized that the mage looked like someone had run a wet cloth over his face. Gently placing his palm over the young man's forehead, it became acutely clear that his fever had risen dramatically and that he was sweating heavily.

“Shh,” Castiel tried to calm as he searched his exhausted mind for solutions.

A wet, cold cloth. He could remember his ma running that over his forehead when he felt particularly bad. He could easily recall the sweet relief of cool against his fevered skin.

That he could do, even if his memory failed to provide him with more useful methods.

Castiel found himself mumbling a gentle promise of returning soon before he practically sprinted towards the kitchen, raiding the stash of kitchen towels and filling a bucket with cold water.

Ellen would wonder where they had gone in the morning, but right then he found that he did not care.

He managed to get the bucket to his room without splashing too much, the kitchen towels soaking in it probably helping quite a bit with that.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Castiel wrung out the first kitchen towel, gently running it over the mage’s forehead and cheeks to clean off the sweat. Then he folded it, placing it over the mage’s forehead, watching for the folds between his brows to even out a bit.

The mage sighed softly, so Castiel kept at it, wringing the kitchen towels and soaking them so they would get cold again.

He sat there all night, only leaving once to refill the bucket with cold water after it had grown lukewarm.

It wasn’t until he heard the front door open and close that he realized how long it had been.

“I’ll be right back.” His voice sounded hoarse even to his own ears. He supposed he looked utterly terrible, but could not find it in him to care enough to find a hood. The fact that he was up so early would likely scare Ellen enough without him lurking around like a cloaked robber.

As predicted, Ellen turned around when he entered the kitchen just at her heels.

“Castiel?” she looked at him utterly confused. “Where are all my tea towels?”

“I,” he rubbed a hand over his face, trying to will away the exhaustion. Had his magic not been drained he could have done it, but as it was he was as vulnerable as the next man. “I needed them. I need something to lower a fever as well. Please bring it to my chambers as fast as possible, I’ll be waiting.”

Ellen stared at him like he had grown two heads. He didn’t wait for an answer, he knew his kitchen maid well enough to be certain she’d bring him exactly what he had asked of her.

Castiel had barely managed to wring another tea towel and place it on the young man's forehead when Ellen knocked.

“Come in.”

She pushed the door open. “Are you sick?” she asked with her back towards him as she placed the tray on his desk beside the one he had used the evening before. Then she seemed to realize that there were two bowls of soup.

“I am not,” he said. “But he is.”

Ellen slowly turned around, a frown on her face. “Do I want to know?”

For a moment she sounded so much like Castiel’s ma had whenever he had brought in strays and hid them under his bed while nursing them back to health. She had often found traces that someone other than Castiel lived in the chambers.

“I… he fell… passed out in the driveway. I couldn’t, his magic… and then it rained and I think he was already running a fever before that.”

It was not his most articulate response to date, but Ellen seemed to get it. Her face softened somewhat. If nothing else Ellen tended to be a mother hen, and Castiel knew he was lucky to have her. 

“Get some rest, Castiel. You look dead on your feet –“

“But,” he started.

“Castiel, I would rather not have two unconscious boys to take care of because you want to exhaust yourself ‘till you pass out.” She looked stern.

Castiel crumbled a bit under her gaze, knowing full well that if he continued, he would end up falling asleep sitting upright. He did not even correct her when she called him a boy. 

“I’ll keep an eye on the boy and wake you if anything changes,” she said.

“That’s not your job,” he protested weakly, knowing very well that Ellen rarely stuck to what her job was.

“My job is to take care of you.”

And that settled it. Castiel could feel something warm blossom in his chest. Ellen had been there through it all, and he was glad he had hired a woman with so much heart. Lesser people would have quit years ago, but Ellen had taken it all.

Even yelled at him when necessary.

Castiel was too tired to be yelled at, and he did not wish to disturb the mage.

“Fine,” he agreed gruffly. “But wake me if anything changes.” The last was added just so he would have the last word. After all, she had already promised she would and Ellen always kept her promises.

Castiel curled up underneath his covers on his mattress. He was asleep seconds after his eyes had closed, exhausted in ways he had not been for years. 

…

Castiel jolted up, glaring around the room. Something had woken him. He wasn’t in his bed.

Frowning he looked around, remembering that he had given up his bed so the mage could sleep comfortably. Ellen was still at his side. She had moved one of the chairs so she could sit comfortably by the bed.

The mage was coughing, an awful, wet and painful sound. Castiel reckoned it was what had woken him from his slumber.

“I was just about to wake you,” Ellen said. “He started coughing not very long ago.”

Castiel nodded, pushing himself all the way to a seated position, grimacing. The scars tugged uncomfortably in his skin as he did, his back groaning in protest.

“How is his fever?”

“Better now,” she replied.

“I think he had a fever before he was soaked by the storm,” he said.

“It was quite a storm.”

Castiel nodded. “Excessive magic,” he offered as a way of explaining what had happened. Ellen lived a short walk away, she would have felt the storm in equal measures to what he and the mage had.

Ellen nodded as if understanding. Even though she was no mage herself, possessed no magic whatsoever, she had been around him long enough to know the danger of it. After all, she’d seen him after his previous encounter with it.

“I also suspect that is why he is still unconscious,” Castiel said, yawning. The mage coughed again. “Do you have anything to help his cough? I fear it will become worse with how long we were in wet clothes.”

Ellen nodded. “I’ll bring you something to eat as well.”

Castiel looked at her back as she retreated out of his chambers with both trays in her hands, wondering if he would have been able to convince her to bring the cough medicine first, then food. Likely not, he figured. Ellen had a stubborn streak and took good care of him.

Getting up was painful, his body protesting in ways it hadn’t for years. “I hope you won’t require me to carry you for quite a while,” he told the mage who replied with another short coughing fit.

Once again Castiel found himself wishing the body and medicinal herbs and plants had caught his interest. Then he would have known what to do about the fever and about the cough. Of course, he knew about willow bark, everyone did, but that was also as far as his knowledge went. He’d have to ask Ellen to teach him some. It seemed ridiculous that his knowledge was so broad in many aspects, yet so lacking in such an important matter.

He ran a gentle hand over the mage’s forehead and found it cooler to his relief.

When Ellen returned she carried two servings of soup along with tea, cups and something that smelled awfully bitter. Knowing her wonderful cooking Castiel figured the bitterness came from the medicine for the cough.

“It’ll have to cool. I got him to swallow the mixture to reduce fever earlier. If this doesn’t go down I have rubs and other things we can try to help the cough,” she told him.

Castiel nodded, digging into the soup with gusto. Ellen took the other bowl, seemingly satisfied to see him eating.

Once their bowls were as clean as if they had been licked, Ellen declared the bitter mixture cool enough for the mage to drink. She waved Castiel over, showing him how to support the mage’s head so the mixture was easy to administer.

The mage opened his eyes, so brilliantly green, when the bitter mixture hit his tongue. Castiel was captivated by their color at first, but quickly noticed that the mage did not seem to focus anywhere. Either he was blind, or the opening had been a simple reaction to the bitterness.

Ellen gently made sure the mage swallowed the rest of the mixture though his eyes started to droop somewhere halfway through.

“I thought he was waking up for a moment there,” Castiel murmured softly as if to not disturb the mage.

“Sometimes people react even if they aren’t conscious. I do think he is getting closer, though.” Ellen’s tone was gentle.

Castiel found himself nodding slowly. “Would you mind showing me how you make the medicine? I do not wish to keep you here after your hours are up, but I need to know what I’m supposed to do in case he gets worse.”


	3. Chapter 3

Even with Ellen’s careful instructions and demonstrations Castiel still felt anxious when the mage started coughing again. He did not want to administer the bitter medication on his own, but he had sent Ellen home for the evening, insisting she needed the rest. She’d provided him with enough of the bitter cough medication to last them throughout the night and the following day if need be. He prayed that the mage woke before that, because as Ellen had pointed out he would soon start to dehydrate, especially with the fevers he was running.

For about half an hour the mage seemed to quiet, not coughing as much. Castiel relaxed, hoping it had just been dust in his throat that caused the mage to cough. He knew better, of course, but one could hope.

Then another fit started, the mage almost doubling over with the force of it.

Castiel hurried to the bedside. With some difficulty he got the mage maneuvered up against his chest, so he was sitting upright. It seemed to alleviate the coughing somewhat.

It was a nasty, wet sound. Like lungs filled with pus. 

The medicine was thankfully within range, so Castiel grabbed it, ready to administer it in small portions between fits so the mage would not error sink and get the medication into his windpipe. Ellen had explained the importance of that, as well as shown him how he could massage the mage’s chest to ease the process of sinking.

“Please wake up soon,” he mumbled. It wasn’t that he minded taking care of the unconscious mage… But he would just rather not have the pressure of keeping someone alive on him. He was not a natural caretaker. 

Why had he let Ellen go home? She would have gladly stayed and helped. 

The mage made a weak sound in protest as Castiel administered a small amount of the bitter smelling liquid. Even cooled it had a foul smell.

“I know it’s unpleasant,” Castiel apologized, waiting for the mage to cough before dripping in a bit more.

It seemed that the mage responded to his voice, or potentially the vibrations in his throat and chest whenever he talked, so Castiel kept at it, telling the mage that he had tasted the potion years ago when he had been sick with a bad chest infection. He could still recall how utterly terrible the medication had tasted. “In a sense I suppose you are lucky you are out of it for that reason.”

The mage did not answer him.

Castiel remained seated behind the mage waiting for the medicine to work. He did not want to risk error sinking by letting the mage lie down too early after swallowing the medication. 

The coughing seemed to ease up slowly, and Castiel was glad. The mage was like a furnace leaning against him. He was glad that Ellen had added the fever reduction along with the bitter cough medicine. 

“I suppose you’d like water, to get rid of the foul taste in your mouth.” Ellen had told him to be careful with water, administering even smaller sips of that as thinner liquids had a higher rate of error sinking, she’d said. Castiel had no idea if that was true, but considering the amount of hurt or sick people Ellen had nursed back to health over the years, he trusted her knowledge.

It turned out to be a lot more difficult to control the flow of water than he had anticipated. Luckily, he did not drown the mage in it, but he did manage to spill on them both.

Seeing as the mage calmed once the medicine was in his system and working properly, Castiel ended up deciding to wait with the rest of the water. Instead he ate dinner in his chambers again, watching the mage as he ate. 

Even fevered and with closed eyes it was easy to tell that he was beautiful. Castiel could not help imagining what he would look like with his eyes open, smiling and full of life rather than sick in bed. He had a slightly curved nose, like someone had broken it once, full lips and freckles dusted all over his face, but especially the bridge of his nose. 

He was breathtaking. 

Castiel shook his head, trying to will his thoughts in another direction.

Part of him felt responsible for the young man's illness, even though he rationally knew they both would have been killed had he not acted as he did. Even without being soaked through in a thunderstorm, it was likely that the sheer exhaustion of keeping back the amount of wild magic could have caused the illness. Not that the knowledge of what wild magic did to a body changed his feelings in the least bit.

“I think feeding you water with a spoon is probably the safest way to go about this,” Castiel told the mage after having considered the matter while eating his dinner. He would have more control that way, adding only the smallest amount at a time.

Considering how long it would take them to get through just a single glass of water with a spoon, he thought it was better to get started before the mage showed signs of getting dehydrated, whatever those were. He mentally noted to ask Ellen about that when she arrived in the morning.

Once again Castiel propped the mage against his front. It had worked with the medicine, the only reason the water didn’t work was the viscosity and his own clumsiness. Hopefully a spoon would be the trick to controlling the latter.

With the small teaspoon Castiel was able to feed the mage water a few drops at a time. It was by no means efficient, but it worked. Only once did the mage start to cough and, everything considered, Castiel could not be sure if he had swallowed the water wrongly or if it was caused by him being sick.

How long they worked to empty the cup Castiel had no idea, only that he was hoarse from telling the mage nonsense stories and that his arms hurt from the unfamiliar movements.

Gently he helped the mage to his side, making sure he was lying in a comfortable position. His head was elevated with plenty of pillows.

“Sleep tight,” Castiel said, rubbing his eyes. The fire was fed, the doors locked. Tiredly he curled up underneath his blankets, sleeping almost before his head hit the pillow.

…

Castiel was awake thrice that night to administer more cough and fever relieving medicine to the mage.

It was likely just his fantasy and the dancing flames playing his senses, but he could have sworn the mage was moving his face, reacting in ways he had not earlier.

When Ellen arrived in the morning she took one look at him before disappearing down into the kitchen. She brought back up a hearty breakfast and watched him like a hawk while he ate. Then she ordered him to bed, like she was the master of the house and he was an unruly child. He didn’t have the energy to protest, knowing well it came from a place of love.

He woke up hours later to the smell of fresh bread.

Ellen was smiling at him when he turned his head. “I think your mage might be coming around.”

“Huh?” Castiel replied.

“I cannot say for sure, but he did seem to respond somewhat earlier when I gave him the medicine,” she said. Apparently seeing that he was about to say something, she continued: “And no, not like when he opened his eyes earlier. If I could guess I would say he is somewhere in a deep sleep, so hopefully he’ll come around soon enough.”

Castiel nodded, it all sounded very reasonable to his exhausted brain. Considering the mage had been unconscious for more than a day and a half he supposed it was time that something happened.

“Have you been up the entire night to take care of him?” Ellen asked.

“No, but I was awake quite often,” he admitted, rubbing his eyes tiredly. It felt like his sleep had been interrupted a lot longer than the two nights it had been.

“Eat. You need to get your strength up.”

Castiel nodded dutifully, slowly rising as to not annoy his exhausted body more than necessary. He was too old for strenuous things like carrying around unconscious people.

…

It took two more days before Castiel felt confident the mage was going to make it. His weak signs of response had turned into stronger ones, and sometimes he would toss and turn and mumble random assortments of words.

He still needed to be supported while taking his medicine as well as drinking small sips of water or broth. By no means could he be considered well, but his system was slowly beating the illness and his magic was well within reasonable levels. It would be a while before it reached critical levels again. Castiel could not help but hope that the mage would either be far away by that time or that he had learned how to control and harness the raw power.

It was beyond his understanding how no one had taught the mage powerful magic to drain his levels when they got dangerously high. The thunderstorm magic was one option, Castiel’s personal favorite, but there were others as well. The mage would have been able to drain his magic safely like that, if he had known the proper techniques.

Castiel had to assume that either no one had bothered to try to teach the young man (which made no sense, seeing as someone had bothered enough to send him towards Castiel for help rather than out into the wilderness to explode into wild energy), that the mage was unintelligent and therefore unable to learn, or that his teachers simply hadn’t known about magic as powerful as that.

Looking at the mage’s peaceful face gave Castiel no answers. He ran a gentle thumb over his brow, checking for signs that his temperature was spiking again. There was no doubt he was still running a fever, but he was no longer as pale or clammy to touch.

According to Ellen, it was just a matter of time before he woke up.

With a sigh Castiel got up from the edge of the bed. His body had finally decided to forgive him for carrying the mage, and his magic was starting to replenish as well. It would be another few days before he was up to full strength. Saving the mage had drained his own magic dangerously low. Only years of strict control and training had helped him achieve the level of control that had allowed him to stop the flow of magic at the right time.

He stretched before sitting down by his desk, fully intending to read. Ellen had lent him some books about human anatomy, health and sickness. The mage should be well before he had learned enough to do something as complex as help alleviate a fever but, everything considered, it seemed reasonable to learn.

It had been a long time since he had last taught himself something just because he wanted to.

Castiel looked back at the page, realizing his thoughts had been wandering. Maybe some tea would enable him to focus on what he was reading?

Castiel got up, walked the distance to the kitchen and brewed himself a pot of tea, no longer worried about the mage choking on secretions from his lungs during a coughing fit. The coughing had seemed drier for a while which Ellen had also deemed a good sign.

Humming, he put the teapot and steeper, teacup and a small bowl for the used steeper on a tray. He continued humming as he walked up the steps from the kitchen to the main floor. Castiel used his elbow and shoulder to push open the door to his room,

“Hey?”

Castiel flinched hard. Hard enough that the tray fell through his hands, landing on the floor with a loud bang and a sickly crunching sound of porcelain breaking.

Looking around the room to find the source of the sound he could have sworn he just heard, his eyes landed on the bed after having searched the rest of the room.

The mage was propped up on one elbow, looking exhausted and pale and sick but a lot better than Castiel had ever seen him. Even the cuts on his face seemed to have healed nicely, only a few still truly visible.

“Fuck, sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” the mage apologized.

Castiel just stood there, staring at the young man, trying to will his mouth to say something reasonably intelligent. It was just surprisingly difficult to get his tongue untied with someone so attractive looking at him from his own bed.

“Are you alright?”

Castiel swallowed and nodded curtly, once, to let the mage know he understood what was said and was listening.

“I’m go-gonna get a cloth,” he got out, turning on his heel and practically running out of the room. Hurriedly he walked to the kitchen, heart hammering in his chest.

It took too long to locate two kitchen towels, his hands shaking. The mage was awake.  _ Awake, awake awake _ , his mind seemed to chant, over and over again. Castiel had thought he would be unconscious for a while more, had not anticipated green eyes in a beautiful face staring at him from  _ his own bed _ . 

What would the mage remember?

Castiel dreaded going back to the room for reasons he could not explain. The mage had to know Castiel had seen him naked. The mage surely would have noticed he was in another set of clothes than the one he had arrived in and put two and two together. Would he think Castiel had taken advantage of him?

Castiel already knew what the mage could have heard about him. It was not pretty things, yet the young man had chosen to appear in his driveway for reasons yet unknown.

He sighed.

Then sighed again, like that would make the dreadful walk any easier. He just hoped the mage had not jumped the wrong conclusions from the evidence presented to him. Castiel’s behaviour had likely not helped if he had.

Castiel hesitated in front of the door, wondering if he should knock now that he knew the mage was awake. On one hand it felt awfully awkward to knock on his own bedroom door, on the other it felt wrong entering without giving the mage at the least a warning he was about to do so.

In the end he lifted his hand and knocked, stepping into the room awkwardly. He could feel the mage’s gaze upon him as he mumbled a hurried excuse, picking up the pieces of porcelain and drying the tea off the floor.

When he turned around to dispose of the broken pieces he was interrupted by the mage’s voice. This time he didn’t jump or lose anything.

“Are you going to come back?”

Castiel nodded, face turned towards the hall. “I’ll bring you something to eat,” he said. He needed a moment to collect himself, and reheating some of the broth Ellen had made seemed like a perfectly good excuse.

Without hearing if the mage actually wanted something to eat, Castiel walked towards the kitchen in long strides, hurrying away from the bedroom for the second time that day.

It took him longer than it should have to reheat the broth, and when he returned to the room the mage had fallen back into a slumber. His chest was rising and falling regularly and he barely stirred when Castiel pushed open the door and placed the broth and a new, unbroken pot of tea on his table. Castiel debated waking him. On one hand he was now awake and able to feed himself, on the other his body probably needed all the rest it could get.

Castiel sat down on the chair by his desk to read, but it was like his eyes kept wandering to the bed instead of the book. There was so much he wanted to ask the mage. His name, first, seeing as Castiel didn’t want to keep referring to him as “the mage” inside his head. It sounded impersonal, like the man sleeping over there was no more than a thing.

Who was he? Who had told him about Castiel? Who had directed him towards his home? Had he been taught magic? And if yes, why was he still unable to control it?

Castiel also considered if he should put the hood back up on the tunic, hiding his face in shadows for when the mage woke up. He knew exactly how ugly the scarring was on the left side of his face, dragging the skin in strange directions and making him look disfigured.

On the other hand, the mage had already seen him without and the hood could easily be more terrifying in that case… Castiel frowned. He was used to wearing his hood, even within the confines of his own home, yet, since the mage had arrived, he seemed to keep forgetting. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation that made him act distractedly.

Castiel shook his head, deciding to leave the hood down for now, leading his thoughts back to a less dangerous territory:

The mage. The mage whose words had been perfectly intelligent, quite a lot more so than what Castiel had managed to say in their short interaction. While that didn’t rule out that the mage was simply stupid or lacked talent it and was simply decent at hiding it… well, to be fair Castiel just had a hunch that it wasn’t capability or intelligence that was the problem.

Judging by how the tea between his hands had grown lukewarm rather than hot Castiel had watched the mage quite a while. The young man started to stir, mumbling incoherently. From there it did not take many moments before brilliant green eyes were fixed on Castiel once again.

It should have been impossible to tell what eye color the mage had at that distance, especially when the light in the room was low with the blinds shut. Maybe Castiel just imagined it, considering how he already knew.

It did not change how piercingly the mage was staring at him.

“I have been told you might be too weak to move much on your own,” Castiel stated in what he hoped was a gentle tone. “You’ve been out of it for quite a while. I understand this might be humiliating and awkward, but if you don’t mind I’d like to assist you into a seated position so you can get something to eat.” 

“Are you the mage on top of the hill?” the young man asked.

Castiel nodded. “I am. Castiel.”

“Dean.”

Castiel watched as the mage, Dean, tried to get his arms to work well enough to get him into an upright, seated position. The mage was clearly struggling more than Ellen would have allowed had she been around, so Castiel decided to assist.

Dean huffed when Castiel helped him to sit and propped plenty of pillows behind his back to keep him seated, but he did not protest.

“How long have I been here?”

“Almost five days,” Castiel responded, back to the mage as he went to grab the bowl of broth. Temperature wise it had fared better than his lukewarm tea and the bowl still felt warm to the touch. Otherwise Castiel supposed he could have reheated it with a bit of magic, though he preferred not to do so until it was completely replenished.

“What happened?” Dean asked, looking grateful when Castiel handed him the bowl and spoon with a warning of it being hot.

“You passed out in my driveway. I was outside so I heard you, but I had already sensed your magic,” Castiel shrugged.

Dean slurped a spoonful of the broth.

“I remember the driveway,” he said. “I can tell that my magic levels are the lowest they’ve been in years. How did you do that?”

Castiel moved, flustered. His cheeks were heating. 

What he had done could be considered highly intimate, highly private. Most mages did not share their magic like that unless it truly was an emergency.

“Please understand that had I not acted the way I did, your magic would likely have killed you and everything in quite a radius around you,” he started. Dean started frowning, an expression that looked all too familiar to his pained fever-face. “I tapped into your magic and drained it as well as a large portion of my own. I know it is highly dangerous, but seeing as you were unconscious when I found you and could not consent or help me either way, I wasn’t left with much choice.”

Dean nodded as if expecting Castiel to continue. His gaze was fixed on Castiel’s face, broth forgotten. 

“I quickly realized your magic was a lot stronger than what I could contain and I directed it to create a thunderstorm. It took a while for it to drain back into safe levels, so that left us both exposed to the weather. You had a fever before the rain even began from the stress and exhaustion your body had endured containing the magic,” he explained. The mage nodded as if he understood.

“I carried you inside, changed your clothes, but you still got sick. I suppose you feel fine now, but in a few hours time the medicine you have had will stop working and you’ll need another dose.” Castiel got up and poured the lukewarm tea out the window. He usually did not do such a thing but he needed something warm and grounding between his hands and hopefully the tea in the pot hadn’t cooled too much.

He turned back to the mage. “You have been sick since. It was not until this night I started to feel certain you’d make it. Until then you had not responded to anything I or Ellen did.”

“Ellen?” Dean asked, head cocked a bit to the side.

“Ellen is my…” Castiel frowned, trying to figure out how to explain it to a stranger. Ellen was his cook, his maid, but more importantly, the only person who looked out for him.

“Wife?” Dean suggested.

Castiel spluttered, then started laughing. Of course Dean would jump to that conclusion, it seemed the most natural for a stranger to think a man and a woman in the same house would be in a relationship.

“No, god no, more like… cook, cleaner, pseudo-mom even though she is not old enough to have birthed me,” he tried to explain. “She knows everything there is to know about the human body and how to heal and help with sickness. She’s the one who made the broth and the medicine.”

Dean nodded as if he understood what Castiel was saying. Maybe he had someone similar in his life.

“You’ve been running a dangerously high fever and coughed so much I feared you would choke on mucus if left on your own.” Castiel gestured towards the mattress on the floor, not even made so it looked nice. After all he had not anticipated Dean would wake up already. “Ellen said it was likely you’d feel weak for at the least the same time the fever has run its course in your body. Longer was also very likely.”

Dean did not look happy. Castiel supposed the young man had been used to doing things himself and to having an able body. He would just have to deal with it, after all it was temporary. He should make a full recovery, as long as he took the time to regain his strength.

For a moment the two men just looked at random spots in the room, neither talking.

To Castiel it felt terribly awkward, now that Dean was awake he could no longer fill the silence with his senseless rambles.

Dean handed him the half empty bowl of broth with a small mumbled thank you.

“There is something else I should probably tell you,” Castiel said, once he had put the bowl back on the tray and felt as if he were at a safe distance.

Dean motioned for him to continue.

“As you probably may have figured, the amount of magic, of raw energy, it took to create a thunderstorm is extremely high.” Castiel ran a hand over his face, wondering how to explain it. He had no previous experience to draw from, no idea how Dean would possibly react to his body being marked by another mage, even if it were purely by accident.

“Energy like that running through the skin leaves a mark,” he said, waiting for Dean’s reaction. None came, it was as if the mage did not process the words. “My hand has left an imprint on your shoulder where your powers bled into me.”

Emotions shifted over Dean’s face, the clearest one being disbelief. Castiel could not blame him, considering how his own hands looked fine. How that worked he had no idea, but he suspected that him acting as a medium and drawing the power from Dean was largely the cause of that. Most of the energy had left his body fairly quickly where it had been underneath Dean’s skin, almost like a dam waiting to break when he finally released the massive amount of energy.

“I do not know if that holds any consequences in the long run, but I would assume it makes it easier for me to tap into your magic, should that ever be necessary.”

“What shoulder?” Dean asked.

“Your left.”

Dean pushed up the short sleeve of the tunic with shaking fingers to look if Castiel were speaking the truth. He continued to look at the angry, red handprint for a while, green eyes wide as if he did not believe what he were seeing.

“I am truly sorry,” Castiel said, feeling like enough time had passed for him to interrupt Dean’s thoughts.

Dean’s head whipped towards him fast enough that Castiel’s neck winced in sympathy.

“You’re sorry?” he repeated, hoarsely.

“I did not know this would happen. And I probably wouldn’t have acted differently if I had. It was either this or leave you to die and take everything I have in this world down with you.”

Dean swallowed.

“I also took the liberty of assuming you were here for a reason, that you had chosen my estate of all places to come to.”

Dean nodded. “I’m not mad. Just surprised.”

He did not sound mad, nor did he sound surprised. He sounded incredibly sad for reasons Castiel could not understand. The mark did look incredibly ugly on Dean’s young, freckled skin, but as far as scars went that one could at the least be covered up and should not disturb Dean’s movements.

But Castiel chose not to press more on the matter, instead he nodded.

“You should probably rest some more before it’s time for your medicine,” he offered. He could entertain himself outside in the greenhouses for a few hours, leaving Dean to digest how closely he had danced with death.

Dean shifted uncomfortably, his cheeks turning a very bright red.

“What if I need to use the restroom?” he asked, very much not looking at Castiel.

Castiel smiled wryly. Ellen had already covered that with him of course, but the mage had no way of knowing that.

“Right now, or hypothetically?”

“Now…” Dean’s face turned an even darker shade of red. 

Castiel supposed it was a good thing, that Dean had enough liquids in him to feel the need to urinate.

“I have a device if you need to urinate –“

Dean opened his mouth to protest.

“I know it is embarrassing, but until Ellen has cleared you that is how it is,” Castiel said sternly. He remembered the embarrassment all too well from his own recovery. “You have felt how exhausted your body is, please do not try to overexert it to maintain dignity.”

The young man looked away, grumbling something Castiel couldn’t hear.

“I will leave the room while you urinate. You can yell at me when you are finished, and I’ll dispose of it for you,” he stated, leaving no room for Dean to protest.

Dean shrugged, clearly getting the message. Either he used the specially shaped bottle, tried to get up on his own (Castiel felt certain Dean knew that was not really an option seeing he had not even been able to sit without assistance) or he soiled himself and the bed once he couldn’t hold back any longer.

Castiel took a brief moment to explain to Dean how to use the bottle before leaving him so he could have some privacy.

He returned upon Dean’s call. The young man had turned a bright pink that only seemed to creep even lower down his neck when he handed Castiel the half-filled bottle.

“Do you need help lying back down?” he asked.

Dean shook his head, clearly embarrassed by the fact that he had to urinate sitting in bed instead of standing like a normal man would.

“I will leave you for a little while then so you can rest.”

Dean nodded.

Castiel figured there was not much else to say and left the room.


	4. Chapter 4

Over the next few days Dean continued to improve. He was clearly still weakened from his illness and wild magic, but to Castiel his quick recovery was a wonder to watch. Ellen too was very satisfied whenever she came by the chambers to check on him. It would soon make sense for Dean to move into his own room so Castiel could get his bed back. The young mage required less and less assistance, and Castiel had no doubt that by the new moon, Dean would be fit to fight again.

Which meant his magic would start regenerating. That worried Castiel quite a lot.

They had yet to talk about anything substantial, like why Dean had appeared at Castiel’s driveway. Who had directed him there. Castiel had not asked, Dean had in turn not offered, but it seemed that it was as good a time as ever. If nothing else Dean’s magic would force them to act sooner rather than later.

“I think I need to start talking to Dean,” he told Ellen one morning. He had one leg propped up under him, the other swinging freely underneath the chair.

“I thought you guys were already talking,” she teased gently.

“We are,” he huffed. “But as it is I barely know a thing about him or his training in the art of mastering magic. I have no clue who sent him here.”

“I thought you had asked him that a while ago.” She placed a steaming hot bowl of porridge with fresh berries from the garden in front of him, taking the seat at the opposite end of the table. It was nice, sharing breakfast with her like that. It reminded him of before. 

Castiel shook his head in an obvious answer, swirling his spoon around in the porridge as if that would provide him with some meaningful insight.

“I suppose I did not want to overwhelm him with questions or that I thought he would offer that information himself. He has asked me to help him control his magic, said I was his last hope to learn how to do so, but other than that?” Castiel sighed, still shaking his head. “He is not offering anything if I don’t ask him directly, and considering how rusty my people skills are I am not sure what is appropriate and what is not.”

Ellen looked at him the way she tended to do when he had said something she thought particularly hopeless. Like when he had started wearing the hood at all times. He had earned that glare quite a lot back then. And afterwards. She had never stopped glaring at that thing.

“Castiel, he appeared at your doorstep. He could have killed you both with his wild magic, ruined your estate and everything you’ve worked on the past 15 years. I think the ship of social appropriateness sailed a long time ago.”

“What ship?”

Ellen snickered. “It’s just a saying. What I’m trying to tell you is that Dean has already broken a lot of rules for good behaviour by just showing up here, no warning, no nothing.”

“I guess so,” Castiel agreed with a shrug. “Either way I need to know who has taught him and who directed him here to know if I can even help. I need to know what he has already been taught.”

“You still sound hesitant to ask him so.”

He swallowed, no longer meeting her eyes. He was not proud of his hesitation, not proud of the part of him that longed for Dean to be so well Castiel could send him on his merry way and hope to never encounter the mage again.

It was the same hesitation that had led him to stall at the greenhouses and he hated it. Hated how weak he had become.

“It is difficult,” he admitted.

Ellen nodded, he could see so out of his peripheral vision.

“I want to be someone who helps without hesitation.”

“You didn’t hesitate to bring him inside your home,” Ellen pointed out gently.

Castiel bit his lip, wondering what she would think of him if she knew the truth about that evening. But Ellen had seen him at his worst, why would his cowardice this time make a difference? He had surely done worse in the time she had been by his side. What he had done to deserve such a loyal staff member he had no idea, but she was irreplaceable.

“I hesitated when I heard him in the driveway,” Castiel admitted slowly, waiting to see if she reacted to that. “I heard him and knew what the stench of ozone was. I heard him drop in the driveway, knowing he had to be unconscious since he was longer making sound and… well, if he was dead it would mean the magic was on the loose… And I did not run there, Ellen. I hesitated. I locked up the greenhouses, for god's sake. I should not have prioritized those over a hurt, unconscious human being in my driveway.”

He could hear the anger and resentment in his own voice, hear how he hated the human he had become. He looked at his porridge, not able to meet her eyes. 

“I should not hesitate now to take him in and offer to teach him, yet I do. What sort of person does that make me?” his voice was practically dripping with contempt, directed at no one but himself.

Ellen sighed softly.

“Castiel, it is natural that you are hesitant. Last time you were around wild magic it ended very badly. It is luck that you are alive, nothing else. Even if your rational mind tries to overwrite that, even if you know that today, with your abilities and knowledge and training you can start another thunderstorm and control Dean’s magic if need be… well, your fears and anxiety relating to what happened last time don't know that.”

Castiel shook his head as if protesting. Ellen’s words soothed something in him, and he appreciated her understanding rather than judging. He did not deserve that soothing, though. He should have not had hesitated.

It just did not change how he felt, the self-contempt welling up in him every time he was not trying to consciously push it down. How his brain reminded him that Dean might have recovered sooner had he reacted faster. How it kept replaying the night Dean had appeared over and over, pointing out every wrong thing he had done.

“Eat your breakfast, then you can bring a tray up for Dean and start questioning him. You need to know what he has learned to help him, and if he refuses to answer you I am going to kick him out myself,” Ellen said, steel in her voice.

She left no room for discussion.

Sometimes he wondered if he truly were the master of the estate. The line of who was in charge had blurred over time and for good reasons. He trusted Ellen like he trusted no one else. She cared for him in a way no staff would usually care for their employer. 

Castiel gently touched the scar on his cheek, reminded that without Ellen and her knowledge he would likely not have survived his previous encounter with wild magic.

If Dean stayed, he was glad to have Ellen there.

He swallowed heavily before eating the porridge. It felt heavy, sticking to the roof of his mouth, his tongue like it was trying to suffocate him. Knowing that he would need his strength if he were to teach Dean he fought his way through most of the bowl, leaving only a few grains of oats, cold and clammy and sticky in the bottom of the bowl.

Ellen smiled at him. She used the time while he enjoyed his tea after eating the porridge to prepare a tray for Dean.

Castiel balanced the tray upstairs, knocking on the door to let Dean know he was about to enter. The mage replied in a low hum, so Castiel pushed open the door.

Dean’s hair was rumpled from sleep, the pillow had left pink lines on his face. He was smiling, green eyes bright even in the low light from the fireplace. Castiel had never before encountered eyes that seemed to shine so much. Whenever Dean smiled, and he did that often, his eyes lit up almost as if someone had turned on candles behind his irises.

The young mage stretched slowly, Castiel could hear the bed creaking and the man making a satisfied noise, before he sat up and moved towards the small table and the extra chair he had carried in there.

Castiel poured them both a cup of tea and allowed Dean to eat in silence until the spoon was scraping against porcelain with a maddening noise. The young mage always seemed hungry, but that was hardly surprising considering how draining fevers tended to be on the body. Once appetite was regained it seemed as if the system was trying to replace what had been lost.

“Dean, there is something I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while,” Castiel started, “but I have not been quite sure how to go about it. You haven’t told me a lot about yourself, and at this point I had honestly hoped to know who your teacher was before you came here and what kind of arts you were taught.”

“That’s not really a question, Cas,” Dean replied with a cheeky smile, blinking.

Castiel felt his cheeks heat up in a very tell-tale manner. He knew that Dean’s flirtatious manner was not directed at him per se. It seemed more like a defence-mechanism, seeing as the mage would flirt like a madman whenever Castiel asked him something he would rather not answer.

The first few times it had worked, leaving Castiel so flustered and confused he had fled the room or forgotten the questions he came to ask, allowing Dean to control the conversation. This time he was prepared. He knew what he wanted to ask, knew that Dean would try to redirect him with flirtations.

“Let me rephrase it then: Who taught you about magic?”

Dean stiffened, looking unhappy that his tactic had not worked this time around.

Then his gaze shifted from Castiel’s face to some insignificant grain in the wood on the table, a blush coloring the young mage’s face.

He did not look like he had found the question flattering or flirtatious though, which led Castiel to believe Dean had to find it embarrassing.

“No one.”

“No one?” Castiel repeated dumbfounded.

“Didn’t hear me the first time?” Dean’s voice was angry now, defensive. His face was twisted, light gone from his eyes now. “No one taught me. Do you think I’m stupid too, huh? That it won’t be worth the time?”

Castiel was struck by the anger, the resentment in Dean’s voice.

“Why would I think that?” he replied honestly.

“Because you keep asking who taught me, like I wouldn’t be able to teach myself!”

Castiel almost pointed out that Dean had passed out in his driveway, knocked out by his own powerful magic which obviously meant that he hadn’t managed to teach himself all that well, but something stopped him. Now was not the time to act petty. The fact that Dean had kept himself alive was a testament to how much control he had managed to teach himself. 

“I am not saying nor thinking that you are stupid, Dean,” he said gently.

Dean didn’t look less angry or any bit of convinced.

“If you have not received any formal training, that makes it even more impressive that you have gotten as far as you have.”

“What do you mean?” Dean grumbled.

Castiel blew on his tea to cool it while wondering how to organize his words.

Dean looked at him impatiently. 

“You are extremely powerful. The level of magic you have, that you can contain is… I have never encountered something like it before. If you had not done a decent job at teaching yourself it would likely have killed you years ago,” Castiel explained, gently. “I don’t think of you as stupid. I have not had a chance to teach you anything or hold a more substantial conversation with you yet, so how would I know?”

The young mage stayed quiet. Then he nodded, slowly, brows furrowed together.

“I want you to teach me. How to control it.”

“There is more to magic than just control, Dean. It is an artform. And with your powers you could change the world with the right training,” Castiel pointed out. Magic was beautiful and powerful. Magic was raw energy, ready to be manipulated and used in the best ways possible. Magic could be destruction and creation. Learning magic was so much more than learning control. 

Dean shook his head. “I just want to control it, alright? I want to go back to being normal, but I can’t, not like this. It’s too dangerous, I get that. I need to get better at keeping it down and controlled and…” he gasped for air.

“Who has told you that?” Castiel asked. He did not like Dean’s words one bit.

Dean refused to answer and refused to meet Castiel’s eyes, no matter how much he pressed for an answer.

It was frustrating and infuriating. The way Dean had rambled the words off… it had not for a moment sounded like they were his own, and for Castiel they represented yet another thing he felt like he had to know to properly teach Dean.

But pushing the young mage would not help either of them any, and it most certainly wouldn’t make him open up and tell Castiel what truly was going on.

“How have you managed to keep the magic controlled until you appeared at my doorstep?” Castiel asked. It was not a smooth transition or the most socially skilled either, but it worked.

Dean took a deep breath, his shoulders moving with it.

“I,” he coughed, breath still rattling with the infection he had almost fought off. “I don’t know. I tried a bit of everything, I suppose. Breathing exercises, self control. Staying awake for a ridiculous amount of time. Searching for people willing to help me. A few were kind enough to offer me advice when they learned I was unable to pay for their services, and some of that advice was sound.”

“What did you find to work the best?”

Dean shrugged and looked utterly helpless. “I don’t know. The breathing and refocusing of energy seems to do well enough when I am not upset or exhausted.”

Castiel nodded. “They are good techniques, albeit with magic as powerful as yours, not nearly enough. It needs an outlet and I suppose you have never been taught that?” The last part was formed as a question even though he already knew the answer before Dean shook his head no.

“Once you are well enough we will work on that.”

“Does that mean you’ll take me in?” Dean asked, voice shaking ever so slightly with emotions. 

Something in Castiel melted looking at the young mage. His green eyes were lit with hope, his face twisted in a silent prayer that Castiel would say yes, yet his body language made him seem as if he were ready to face rejection.

“Yes.” Castiel smiled at him, ignoring the familiar way the skin on his cheek felt tight and wrong with it.

The way Dean lit up into his first real smile shouldn’t make Castiel’s heart beat faster. It should not make feelings and desires that had laid dormant for over a decade stir. Dean was his prodigy, his student, not someone Castiel should have his heart beating over. Something had to be terribly wrong with him, yet he could not help but smile wider to return Dean’s happiness.

…

It took another week after Castiel had said yes to teaching Dean before the young mage was well enough to start the formal training. He was still coughing every once in a while, getting rid of the last of the slime in his lungs, Ellen had said, reassuring Castiel that as long as the work was not too strenuous it would cause Dean no harm.

Dean had made a face the first time Castiel had suggested meditation.

When Castiel paired the meditation with gentle stretching Dean had laughed until he realized that being mostly bed bound for two weeks had left him weak enough that even the non-strenuous exercise left him gasping for air and complaining about pain and stiffness.

“What is the purpose of this, Castiel?”

“Are you questioning me?” Castiel had his face turned away so Dean wouldn’t see the small smile playing around his lips. He kept his voice stern, trying to remind Dean (and himself) that there was a student-teacher relationship and that Dean was expected to listen and not question everything.

“No, no ‘course not!” Dean hurriedly assured him. “I was just wondering since I assumed that you had chosen this with a… y’know, purpose?”

“I assure you that I have,” he replied, humoring the thought of not telling Dean why in his mind. But then he remembered that he had always responded better to the teachers who had taken the time to explain to him why a certain exercise was in the curriculum. Considering all Dean’s questions, it seemed likely that he was like that too.

“The meditation is to help ground you and to get proper breathwork. The exercises are partly because your body needs to recover, and partly because my body benefits from it as well. At this point you cannot go for a run or lift heavier objects, it would set you back rather than help you out, so I am building your strength in a way that will not overexert you,” he said.

After a moment of thought Castiel added: “And then there is also the matter of remembering to breathe deeply and find that grounding through your body even when you are in pain or your muscles shake from exhaustion. As a mage you may encounter situations where you are suffering or you can barely stand and yet need to perform magic.”

Dean sighed, letting himself fall down into a sitting position with a heavy thump. “I had honestly hoped you’d give me some bullshit excuse instead of something that made sense.”

“Why?”

“Because then I wouldn’t feel like I would have to work so hard to make it work for me.”

Castiel laughed at that, he could not help himself. “It takes time. I was not born a good mage or with any higher level of body control.”

“You weren’t?” Dean leaned back, obviously making himself comfortable in the grass.

“No, truth be told I was a quite clumsy kid with poor motor-skills. It took quite a lot of training to get to any level of control and even more to get my balance to where it is today.”

“Is it worth it?”

Castiel thought about that for a moment, looking out over the field they were currently sitting at the edge off. It was a nice day, sun high on the sky and only a few clouds visible. Later it would be too warm to exercise outside, but for now it was lovely. “For me it has been well worth it. I enjoy the control I have over my body, mind, and magic. I doubt I would be half as powerful as I am without the control I have. I also learned my limits that way.”

“Why don’t you teach more people then?” Dean asked.

Castiel stiffened at that, and did not answer at first. When he turned his head the young mage looked at him, something serious in his gaze.

“I mean, so far you’ve been a great teacher. I know we’ve barely been through more than breathing exercises and me trying to reach my toes and failing spectacularly at it, but…” Dean shrugged, his shoulders making a soft ruffling sound against the grass beneath him

“You really do not know what happened?” Castiel asked him slowly.

Dean shook his head.

“You must have heard the rumors,” Castiel insisted.

Dean shook his head again. “I might have, I wouldn’t know for certain. All I know is that I asked around for a mage powerful enough to teach me, and someone pointed me in your direction. Everyone else had refused to teach me at that point, I suppose magic sickness was already radiating from me at that point, and well, even if they had told me you were evil or wicked I doubt I would have listened. I knew what would happen if I didn’t get help soon from someone powerful.”

“Oh,” Castiel replied, at a loss for better words. He had somehow assumed that Dean was from somewhere nearby and would have heard the stories, hell, maybe even seen what had happened or visited the place afterwards like so many others had done. That he had no idea… Castiel had never phantomed that an option.

“I suppose I cannot ask for your honesty if I am not,” he ended up saying, proud that his voice was not shaking audibly. “I am glad you haven’t heard the rumors, most of them are terrible and have very little to do with what actually happened.”

He was quiet for long enough that Dean interrupted his thoughts with a ‘what did happen, Cas?’ in a quiet voice.

“My last pupil died and nearly killed me along with her. She was not half as powerful as you are. If I should compare your magic levels, she was a big river and you the ocean, yet there was no controlling her. She was stubborn and headstrong and didn’t listen to instructions. She was unwilling to learn, so certain she knew what was right. In the end she paid the highest price, nearly taking me and a good chunk of the village with her. I still think some in the village blame me.”

Dean gasped softly, and Castiel wondered if he thought the same. Castiel wondered if someone from the village, someone who had been hurt or had their home or business damaged by the magic back then, had directed Dean towards him, hoping that the same would happen again.

Only this time Castiel would be alone on his estate and Dean would hopefully be too far away from the village to truly cause them harm.

“She was a good kid, just incredibly stubborn, set in her ways. She thought she was right. I often wished I had gotten her earlier or that I had found the way to teach her, found her way to learn. I did not know then what I know now. Had I noticed the signs of her magic running wild earlier, had I known how to drain it I would have done so,” there was something pleading in his voice, like he was scared Dean thought less of him, thought he had let his student die. “It took me a long while to recover physically and even longer mentally. I have not gone to the village since.”

“Is that where you got the scars?” Dean asked, voice small and hoarse.

“Yes.” Castiel replied. Dean had only seen the ones on his face.

“Did it hurt?”

“Coming into contact with wild, raw magic like that is so burning hot it’s almost cold. Your nervous system cannot process it properly. I was lucky I did not stand closer than I did, that I had already turned halfway to run.”

He had no better answer than that.

Dean grimaced.

Castiel laid down in the grass beside his new student, looking up into the sky. “I hope you won’t repeat her mistakes.”

“I want to live. I know my magic can kill me if I don’t learn. ‘Course I won’t.”

“You also need to tell me if there is something in my methods of teaching I can improve. If I keep teaching you something in a manner you do not understand or do not respond well to, we are wasting our time. I can keep draining your magic like I did to save your, our, lives, but it will likely set us both back every time I do it,” Castiel said, incredibly serious. Dean had to be honest, otherwise Castiel would never be able to teach him.

Dean turned his head, Castiel could see him do so out of his peripheral vision.

“Why does it set you back?” he asked.

Castiel clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I activate quite a lot of my own magic to keep yours under control and stop it from running wild. If I were to do it again it would likely be less strenuous, partly because you would be conscious and able to assist me, partly due to the fact that I would do so before you reached as dangerous a level as you did then. A deep breath in, then he continued: “I also used my magic to activate the thunderstorm before letting the energy from yours loose in it, creating a somewhat safe havoc. And then I used my own again to close off the connection before I drained us too severely.”

“What would happen if you hadn’t been able to do so?” Dean asked, a huff of warm breath hitting Castiel’s neck.

“I would have killed us both,” Castiel replied seriously. “Once I had drained the magic I’d start tapping into the energy that keeps your body moving and your heart beating and then my own. At that point I would have been too weak to continue and…” he ended the sentence with a small shrug, feeling the earth solid beneath his back. He allowed himself to focus on the grounding sensation for a moment.

A stone was digging into his thigh.

“So you risked your life for mine?”

Castiel huffed. That was somewhat true, yet not really. He would have risked his life had there been a choice. But there had not been. “With the dangerous level you were at I had no choice. Either I reacted and helped you out or I would have been killed trying to run.”

“Oh,” Dean replied, a small and insecure sound like Castiel had just changed his worldview.

“I did not want another human’s life on my hands, even if I would have been dead afterwards and not here to think about it,” he offered gently.

Dean nodded as if that made sense.

Maybe it did. Castiel did not quite understand it, but he also did not want to upset Dean. And Dean had seemed upset when Castiel had said he saved him because he would have killed them both otherwise.

They stayed quiet for a while. Castiel could see Dean turn his head to the sky out of his peripheral vision. Something told him his last words had upset Dean, yet he did not understand why. Having had the pleasure of Dean’s company he would not hesitate to save him for other reasons than the selfish desire to stay alive. He contemplated telling the young mage so, but came to the conclusion that there was no way he could say so without it sounding highly inappropriate.

And considering the difference in their power dynamic, Castiel did not want to sound inappropriate. Dean’s life could very well depend on him, and he wished not to make the other man feel as if he were pushing him towards anything.

“Are you ready to try again?” he asked after another while.

“Sure,” Dean replied.

They used the rest of the afternoon working towards flexibility, patience, and strength.

  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

It had been almost a full month since Castiel had started training Dean in the art of self-control. Their focus had mainly been on the body and breath and how to use both to ground. They had slowly moved towards harder exercises that required more strength, holding the poses for longer and doing even more difficult work.

Castiel had been happy to notice the young man gaining weight in all the right places, slowly growing a lean muscle mass and a bit of softness around his middle.

Once he felt certain that Dean had gained enough discipline he introduced simple magic.

“Cas, why are we doing this? I’ve been able to lift stones for  _ years _ !” Dean protested. He had yet to raise his voice, but Castiel could hear the anger simmering just beneath the surface.

Spending time in relatively close quarters had enabled him to read Dean pretty well. Castiel knew a lot of his tells now, even the ones Dean did not seem to be aware of having. 

“I know you have. But I need to test your basic knowledge and power and control before I move onto more difficult magic.”

“I can tell you what I can and cannot do!” Dean continued, arms falling to his side in a frustrated movement.

“You would not be able to tell me what I need to know. Please trust that I am doing this with your best interest in mind,” Castiel tried in a soothing voice.

That did not seem to satisfy Dean. If anything it served to anger him more. The young mage was fuming, mouth twisted in a sneer.

“At least give me something challenging! I can’t help but feel like we are wasting our time. I can feel my magic growing stronger, I can feel it, Cas!” Dean was breathing hard in his anger. “I don’t want to explode!”

And suddenly Castiel understood what Dean’s anger was truly about. The younger man was terrified that he would not learn fast enough. Castiel worried about that sometimes too. Whenever his hand brushed Dean’s skin to correct a pose or show him how to make it more strenuous, he could feel the magic hum, almost welcoming, inviting his touch.

“You will not.”

“You can’t promise me that!” Dean all but yelled.

“Yes, I can,” Castiel sighed softly. “Dean, I am not using all this time and energy just to let your magic overtake and kill us both. I will not let it get as bad as it was when I found you in my driveway either. If I deem it necessary I will help you drain your magic long before that.”

“But you said it yourself, that doing so would set us both back a long while!” Dean threw his arms out in frustration again as if the movement served a purpose to make Castiel understand. For someone who had used less time than Castiel learning to read his expression, anger would be all that came through.

The almost invisible quiver in the mage’s lower lip would go missed, as would the way his eyes had turned glassy in fear.

Dean had every right to be upset.

“It will, but Dean, in the long run it is still better than rushing your education. I know this is tedious and frustrating. I know that you already know all of this and might think me to be an old, dumb, senile man, but I promise you there is a purpose. I need to see how you work with your magic, I need to see your level of control. I need to see for myself if you are able to channel the right amount of power so you are not a danger to your surroundings or yourself.” Castiel kept his voice gentle, sensing that Dean was not getting any calmer with his words.

“I don’t want to die,” the mage admitted with a broken voice. The anger had fizzled out of him, leaving his shoulders slumped without that energy holding them up. He looked truly sad now. Fearful. It tugged in Castiel’s heart to see him like that. He did not wish to cause Dean pain, yet he was.

Castiel wished he had any idea what to do with sad people. The anger was easier to deal with.

If Ellen had been around she would have known what to do, but alas, she was in the kitchen preparing a solid meal for their dinner.

Dean sat down into the grass with a hard thump, as if he no longer had the energy to stand.

His shoulders were shaking.

Castiel looked at him awkwardly, heart beating in his chest, throat tight. He had no idea what to do, how to comfort the young mage.

For as long as Castiel was able he would help, make sure Dean was alive and safe and sound. But considering the age gap, that didn’t seem like a particularly comforting thing to say.

Feeling overwhelmed by emotions himself, Castiel sat down beside Dean too, offering him an awkward pat on the shoulder.

Dean leaned into the touch like a starving man would seek out food.

Castiel let him move closer, until their hips and legs were flush and he had to sling an arm over Dean’s shoulders to stay comfortable.

They stayed like that, Dean silently crying his frustrations and fears out. 

“Sorry ‘bout that.”

Deans shoulder had stopped shaking a while ago, his breathing evening out into something calmer only interrupted by the occasional sniffle.

“No need to apologize,” Castiel assured him gently.

“Yeah.”

Castiel sighed. Dean was truly stubborn and pigheaded when he wanted to be right about something. “You are scared and frustrated. I see nothing you need to apologize for.”

Dean had withdrawn enough that Castiel could see him grimacing. It looked a lot like contempt.

“I just don’t want to prove my old man right,” he admitted, green eyes looking off toward the horizon. Aside from a bit of puffiness he did not look like someone who had cried, and Castiel couldn’t help but wonder how often Dean had cried and hidden it. How often he had felt forced to hide it. It was painful to think about.

“Huh?” Castiel replied, unable to figure out the appropriate answer to that. It was the first time Dean had mentioned his family, so Castiel had no idea what kind of man Dean’s father might be.

“My dad didn’t like wizards or mages or what-have-you. Said they were dangerous, said they were a liability, should be hunted down and killed before they do damage. And here I am, proving to be exactly that.”

“He is not right, though,” Castiel said, itching to put an arm around Dean again. He had a strong feeling that it would not be appreciated this time around, so he refrained.

“Yeah, he is,” Dean grumbled. “Cas, can we agree that I would have taken down the entire estate had you not helped me?”

“Yes.” There was no point in lying, because Dean already knew this. Castiel had a feeling he would have done a lot more damage than that, but Dean did not need to know that. He would just blame himself for something that had not even happened.

“Don’t you see his point then? If I were dead, I wouldn’t be a danger to anyone else.”

“If someone had tried killing you at that point they would have unleashed your magic,” Castiel argued, “and that would be equally dangerous.”

“Then I should have gone somewhere desolate and killed myself.”

“Why are you saying that, Dean? What is bringing this on?” Castiel asked, desperation sneaking into his voice. The thought of Dean doing something like that to himself for the sake of others made it difficult to breathe. He had never heard Dean talk like that, like the world deserved to be rid of him. 

“My mom was killed by a mage,” Dean told him as a matter of factly. His voice was emotionless, like he was reading a statement from a book.

Castiel stiffened at that. “So your dad?”

“Didn’t like that I turned out magic,” Dean spat.

“Dean, what did he do?” Castiel was not entirely certain he wanted to hear the answer.

“Made sure I didn’t lose control. He was good at that, you must have noticed? Up until now, I suppose. Always in control of the magic. Always stronger.”

“Wha…?”

“He made sure I wouldn’t perform magic at home. Whenever something happened accidently he would punish me for it.”

Castiel could feel himself pale, his face going cold. 

“Your scars?” he got out, voice thin and on the verge of breaking. The marks on Dean’s body had been thin, like a sharp whip or a belt or someone cutting through the skin. Castiel had imagined it being from fighting, not from a father gone mad.

“Yeah.” Dean nodded once to underline his words.

The cold was replaced by heat, anger starting like a fire in his belly, spreading like a wildfire until Castiel’s breathing was labored and his fists clenched, body ready to move against an enemy not there.

“I’m assuming that is why you haven’t had any formal training?” Castiel did his best to keep his voice even so he didn’t upset Dean further.

“Not until two, three years ago. And then, only very little. I ran away from home when Sammy was old enough to move out on his own and didn’t look back,” Dean explained with a small shrug like that where perfectionally rational. Dean had mentioned Sam in the passing before, and Castiel understood that Dean was very protective over his little brother. In that light, he supposed it was rational to stay at home and take the beatings, to ensure that Sam did not have to. 

Castiel took a deep breath, grounding the anger, forcing his fists to unclench.

“I am assuming that is partially the reason why some have turned you away as well?”

“They said I was too old to learn.” Dean grumbled, hugging his legs into his chest. “I’m not, though. I get that some things might be easier to teach a child, but I am hard working. I can do it.”

Castiel did not need convincing, he had already seen what Dean could do when he set his mind to it. So he figured the words were more for Dean’s sake, for him to believe.

But when Dean turned his green eyes towards Castiel, pleading, he realized he had to affirm somehow.

“I know Dean. I’ve seen it already,” he soothed.

Dean turned his gaze away again, with another small shrug. Like it didn’t matter what Castiel thought about him. Castiel knew better though, knew that Dean valued his opinions. 

Castiel allowed the silence to go until he felt entirely certain that Dean had calmed himself. The sun was starting to set low at the horizon. His stomach was rumbling lowly, reminding him that he had gotten used to sleeping in the nighttime and getting three square meals a day. Now, his stomach appeared to believe, was the proper time for the last of the meals.

“Let’s call it a day and go inside. I’m sure Ellen has prepared something delicious for us,” he said.

Dean looked at him with a weak smile. “I can keep going, you know.”

“I know. But I am hungry, so unless you want to use your evening on moving stones with magic and exercising control over them without me watching…” Castiel trailed off with a shrug.

Dean's smile turned a bit more real with that. “I don’t suppose I could persuade you to have your dinner out here and watch my progress while you eat?” There was a teasing tone to his voice that Castiel could appreciate.

“No.”

“It’s just because you are terrified of Ellen!” Dean accused, his smile growing wider.

“And you aren’t? She makes our food, Dean. She knows everything there is to know about the human body. I doubt she would ever cause us serious harm for forgetting dinnertime, but I also would not put it past her to make sure that it was the last time we forgot.” Castiel laughed at his own words. Ellen would likely smack him on the head with a wooden spoon should they forget dinnertime, especially considering how much pride she took in Dean’s rounder waistline. But if that did not work he wouldn’t put it past her to resort to more serious measures to get him to understand the seriousness of showing up on time.

Dean laughed too. He and Ellen had grown close enough that he knew Castiel was just joking. Mostly.

The meal Ellen had prepared was warm, hearty, delicious, and everything Castiel needed. Dean too, he supposed, considering the day the young mage had been through.

Maybe Ellen had a secret gift to know when certain foods were needed. Castiel wouldn’t be surprised if she did, she always seemed to have the right thing prepared for them. The stew was everything he needed, and along with the freshly baked and buttered bread he could wish for nothing more. 

…

Castiel was woken by screams.

It took him a moment to realize that the screams were coming from Dean’s chambers. He was quickly on his feet, sprinting the few feet between their doors.

He pushed the door open.

Dean was tangled in his sheets. Even in the dying light from the last flames Castiel could see the sweat on his brow.

The sound he made was frantic, terrified.

“Dean, wake up!” Castiel yelled. That did nothing, so he moved closer, placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder, shaking it.

He kept calling Dean’s name until the young mage was blinking at him through heavily lidded eyes. His lips kept moving as if he were trying to talk, breathing labored.

“You had a nightmare. I heard you,” Castiel explained, keeping his voice low and soft. “So I came to wake you up.”

Dean made a croaked, broken sound.

“I’ll get you something to drink, okay?”

Castiel motioned to get up when Dean’s hand shot out, grabbing his arm.

“Stay.” It barely sounded like a word, his voice broken and cracked.

“Stay?” Castiel repeated, just to be certain that was what Dean had said, that he did not mishear. After all, it was the dead of the night and his brain was clouded with sleep. Now that his body was no longer flooded with adrenaline, tiredness crept in fast.

Dean nodded, eyes big and terrified in the low light.

Castiel wondered what he had dreamt about. It was obviously bad.

“I’ll need to get a mattress in here, then,” he said gently, tempted to run a hand over Dean’s forehead, moving the sweaty hair in a gentle and loving gesture.

“No.”

Dean kept his hand firmly grasped around Castiel’s arm as he scooted backwards on the bed. “Plenty of space for two.”

And well… yeah. They could fit two on the bed, but that would be a tight squeeze. And Castiel could not remember the last time he had stayed that close with another human being.

He felt panic rise in his chest until he looked back at Dean. The young man looked like he had been haunted by ghosts, like Castiel would crush his world by turning him down and going back to his own bed.

“I suppose there is,” Castiel agreed hesitantly, glad that he favored sleeping in a soft short sleeved tunic and long pants. His heart was hammering hard in his chest and he licked his lips nervously. 

Dean didn’t seem to notice his discomfort.

“Mhm,” Dean agreed softly, eyes heavily lidded as if he were ready to fall back into sleep as soon as Castiel lay down beside him

And Castiel knew he was overstepping all the lines and entirely ruining the walls he had tried to place between them, yet he climbed into the bed beside his student. 

With the talk they had shared earlier that day, Dean admitting to the abuse his father had put him through, it was no wonder he needed comfort. Castiel would not be surprised if the nightmare had been about that. 

Dean hummed, sighing. It was a content sound. 

By the way his breathing evened out Castiel knew, even with his back turned towards Dean, that the young mage was soundly asleep. No thrashing or whimpers, just quiet even breathing. It would have been calming had it not been Dean beside him, had it not been so terribly inappropriate. Castiel had tried to keep a certain physical and emotional barrier between himself and Dean to ensure that he did not overstep, that he did not take advantage of Dean.

He knew how terribly easy it was for a student to fall for their master, how the bond between them could easily be mistaken for one of love. His former masters had endured enough of that one sided love from his fellow peers for him to know that.

Maybe that was why he had not expected that in his case it would be the other way around.

He had never heard of a master falling for a student. It could be that it simply never happened, or more likely, that it was never spoken about. 

Castiel swallowed, wanting so desperately to turn around and hold Dean, to keep him safe from the world that way. Maybe Dean would even appreciate it, the violence of the nightmare considered. Maybe it would make him feel safe, like having Castiel beside him apparently did.

But maybe it was all in his head, his fondness entirely one sided.

Either way it would be terribly inappropriate. It would be him using his position. Hell, Dean’s life depended on his teaching. Castiel could do whatever he wanted, and Dean would just have to put up with it because he wanted to live. 

It made him sick to his stomach, wondering if other masters had said they could help, only to take advantage of Dean’s terribly desperate situation.

He would not be that person, he vowed to himself. If he ever were to touch Dean in a way not strictly platonic, it would be after Dean was finished as his student, after he had mastered the art of magic. When Dean truly could be his own person, free to go, and free to settle.

Castiel forced his jaw to relax. The muscles were painful from clenching so hard.

It hurt, knowing, promising himself, he could pursue his interest in Dean. It hurt knowing that Dean was likely seeking him out for comfort, for a familiar person, and not because he truly wanted Castiel in bed with him.

Dean turned in his sleep, making the bed move in an unfamiliar fashion. Castiel was so used to being alone. Sleeping in the same room as Dean while he was sick was the first time in more than 15 years he had shared his chambers with anyone. Sharing a bed with someone had been even longer.

It made something behind his eyes sting.

It made him feel lonely, thinking like that, reminding himself of how reclusively he had chosen to live. How much life Dean had brought into his home. How terrible it would be if he should ever decide to leave and take that with him.

Castiel doubted he could go back to the way he had been before.

He swallowed heavily and forced his thoughts back to focus on matching Dean’s even breathing. Every time something popped up in his mind, he pushed it back down, willing it away.

In the end, he too fell asleep, drifting long on the edge between sleeping and wakefulness.

His dreams were unsettling. Wild magic and fires and Dean. Warmth, soft lips against his own. Thunder and the stench of burning flesh.

When Castiel woke up the following morning he felt hot. Burning, sweating hot as if he were sleeping in front of an open fire.

He also had a strange feeling of not being alone. Like someone breathing on his face with a bad morning breath.

_ What a strange dream _ , he thought to himself. Why would he dream about horrible morning breaths, though? Wasn’t dreaming about sharing a bed with someone supposed to exclude the uncomfortable parts like that?

Rubbing his eyes Castiel could have sworn his hand brushed someone…

Oh.

Castiel blinked, feeling a lot more awake all of a sudden.

Dean’s head was turned towards him, face slack and even younger looking in his sleep. His lips were parted and he was breathing in and out in small huffs. Castiel looked over to see the blinds pulled back.

He recalled something about Dean not liking to wake up to a dark room from when he had been sick and slept in Castiel’s room. It was not like one could really blame him if his nightmares were always that bad. Castiel had not liked sleeping in a dark room at first either. Maybe that was why he had taken to sleeping during the day. 

Unable to stop himself, but knowing that Dean was still soundly asleep, Castiel reached forward and brushed Dean’s hair b

ack from his forehead.

He could feel a small smile playing around his lips. Dean looked so innocent in his sleep, it was hard to imagine him being as stubborn as he was when awake. His skin was soft beneath Castiel’s fingertips, and it took all he had to not continue petting his hair and touching his face.

His fingers tingled with desire to keep caressing Dean’s skin, but the guilt weighed heavily in his belly. He should never have said yes to sharing a bed. He should have stayed until Dean was asleep, and then left.

It was highly unprofessional. 

Dean grumbled in his sleep when Castiel attempted to roll out of bed without making a sound. His hands reached out, trying to grab Castiel, get him back into bed.

And had they been partners Castiel would have gladly joined him again, but seeing as they were not, he felt the need to get out as fast as possible.

He could have sworn green eyes looked at him, filled with hurt, when he snuck out the door. But Castiel has his own business to deal with, and he preferred Dean not knowing about his feelings and especially not about the physical reactions that came with them.

Castiel was glad that his chambers were just one door down. Sneaking with a hard erection throbbing in his thin pants was neither discreet nor comfortable.

He breathed out in relief when his own door locked behind him, glad he had not met Ellen and that Dean had not been awake enough to notice his reaction to his proximity.

Leaning towards the door Castiel breathed out heavily, finally touching the strained front of his pants. It had been years since he last had felt the desire to touch himself, but now it burned in him, making his veins sing.

He hissed, slowly adding pressure as he rubbed against the bulge.

All that just because he had been near Dean. They had barely touched. Dean had just  _ been _ there.

Closing his eyes he continued to rub up and down, teasing himself through the thin fabric. His teeth digged deliciously into his lower lip, adding just a hint of pain to the pleasure searing through his body.

He should not touch himself like that. Not while thinking of Dean. It was wrong in so many ways. 

Yet he was unable to resist when his brain provided him with mental images of Dean close to him, Dean’s hand over his erection, Dean pleasuring him.

“Ohh,” he sighed.

In his mind Dean sped up the pace, providing even more friction. He still refused to open Castiel’s pants, still refused to touch him directly skin to skin. Castiel longed for it, asked, begged.

Dean grinned to him, the exact same cheeky grin he sometimes wore in real life.

Castiel would never be able to see that grin the same way again.

Fantasy Dean’s smile turned more cheeky, the gaze he gave Castiel so filled with intent and lust that Castiel couldn’t help but moan.

It was like he could feel Dean’s lip through the tunics fabric as he went down Castiel’s body, opening the trousers with skilled hands and dragging them down to Castiel’s knees, leaving his member to stand proudly into the air.

“Dean,” he whispered, begged.

He didn’t dare open his eyes, too caught up in the fantasy.

But it was easy to imagine those pink, full lips wrap around his dick, spit slick and willing to pleasure Castiel. How Dean would hollow his cheeks, providing an obscene suction around his dick.

Castiel wasn’t gonna last long.

He whimpered.

Dean slowly took him down all the way. The glide of his hand was so wet with precome it was easy to imagine.

Dean picked up the pace.

Castiel was unable to hold back. Less than a minute from imagining Dean’s mouth on his erection Castiel found himself alone in his bedroom, fuzzy with the postorgasmic fog and a hand covered in his own come.

The guilt of what he had done did not hit him until he had washed his hands and his head had cleared a bit.


	6. Chapter 6

Castiel felt odd around Dean after the sleeping together incident. He did his best to avoid physical touch when possible and kept his emotional distance to the best of his abilities. He had also done his best to keep a physical distance to Dean whenever they exercised together. While some things required close proximity, Castiel refused to touch Dean out of anything but absolute necessity.

If Dean noticed he never brought it up. 

Not that it seemed to matter. His libido had picked up like he was a teenager. Dean being nearby seemed to create some insatiable lust in him, and he felt the need to pleasure himself before training with Dean to avoid wrongly timed erections.

Not that Dean was any degree of helpful. It was as if his student sensed his awkwardness and did everything to make it worse. He could swear Dean had read his thoughts as he masturbated, that Dean knew the exact smile that had been on his face before going down on Castiel, because Dean wore it all the time now every day.

If he weren’t winking.

Or saying highly suggestive things making it sound like he knew exactly what was going through Castiel’s mind.

Maybe it was just Castiel going crazy, but he was certain Dean had turned a lot flirtier. The more Castiel tried to avoid touching Dean, the more the young mage would casually lean in to place a hand on Castiel’s shoulder or walk so close they couldn’t help but touch.

And that particular day Dean had turned out to be even more flirtatious than he usually was.

“Cas, would you mind showing me that again?” he asked, winking.  _ Winking _ !

Castiel sighed, knowing very well that Dean had already understood the move. Maybe flirting was just Dean’s default mode when he was not near death or actively fearing for his life. At first it had seemed a defence mechanism, but now Castiel was not so sure. It seemed that Dean flirted with the same ease other humans breathed air. 

“Look closely,” Castiel told him. 

Dean nodded dutifully, green eyes trained on Castiel as he moved through the exercise he wanted Dean to do. It was not particularly difficult, merely a merge of other things they had done previously in the day.

He tried to busy himself with the stance. While not difficult in execution it was difficult to uphold for a longer period of time. Yet, even with his muscles burning in protest, it was impossible not to notice the way Dean eyed him with something Castiel would have described as hunger in his eyes. But Castiel knew better, knew that his feelings for Dean were one sided. It had to be his imagination seeing Dean look at him like that. Wishful thinking.

“Do you think you get it now?” he asked, voice breathless from keeping his burning thighs properly oxygenated.

“Mhm, might need help,” Dean told him. 

Castiel unraveled himself, waiting patiently for Dean to go through the moves to end up in the same posture. That day's exercise would focus on strength and flexibility in the morning and magic strength in the form of levitation later that day. Dean was getting stronger by the day. 

Castiel tried to not look proud as Dean moved with ease towards the pose. Dean looked so much healthier than when he had arrived, all lean, strong, functional muscle mass. They were no longer working towards getting his strength to an acceptable level, they had long moved beyond that.

“I’m not sure I got the left foot right,” Dean said, dragging Castiel out of his thoughts.

From where Castiel stood it looked just fine and he told Dean so in a dismissive tone. 

“It feels odd though. Would you mind helping me adjust it?”

And there it was again: An adjustment Dean was perfectly capable of making himself now that he understood the basics and had learned control over his body, yet he asked Castiel to help him out. In a physical manner.

Dean was obviously a tactile person, responding better whenever Castiel helped him with touch rather than directions. But his stance seemed good… So why was he asking for help now?

Castiel sighed under his breath, then moved to help Dean correct his stance. It was a few fingers width worth of change at best. It should not make a major difference.

Dean breathed out in relief.

“Oh god, now I feel the stretch you talked about.” Dean sounded breathless.

Castiel nodded. “It feels amazing when you get it right,” he agreed, smiling.

“My thighs are burning.”

“They are supposed to burn at this point.”

“It hurts, Cas,” Dean whined.

Castiel could not help but grin at him. “5… 4… 3… 2… remember your breath… 1, release, yes, just like that, nice and slow.”

Dean groaned in relief as Castiel finally allowed him to return to a more neutral stance to relax. The sound went straight to Castiel’s groin.

“I think now would be a good time for a break!” he said.

“Yes, please.”

The breathless way Dean was talking did nothing to help the growing warmth in his face.

“You look like you could use some water as well,” Dean remarked. “You’re completely flustered.”

“Must be the heat.”

Dean looked towards the sun, currently hiding behind a solid grey cloud and shrugged. “Or your exercise regimen.”

Castiel chuckled. “Make yourself useful and get us some water.”

After a longer lunch break they would start with easy magic, like lifting stones, harvesting energy from the surroundings (not that Dean needed it, but Castiel felt it was important to cover all the basics) and then they would move into increasingly difficult magic work. After that they would stretch again to calm down, and in the afternoon or evening Castiel would teach Dean about the theory behind the magic.

At first it had been enough to ask Dean to lift heavier targets, forcing him to focus and use his strength to control his magic until his brow was dripping with sweat and he was shaking from exhaustion, but not even two weeks into that and Castiel had difficulties finding large enough objects for Dean to levitate without asking him to levitate the estate.

He was not going to risk his home like that. Or his greenhouses.

“I have decided that we will not be working on lifting heavy objects today,” he declared.

“Why not?” Dean asked, brow furrowing in confusion. Castiel knew he rarely varied their normal routine and that the change would be confusing for Dean.

“Because I simply do not have heavier objects that are not my greenhouses or the estate.”

Dean grinned at him, satisfaction making his eyes glint in the warm afternoon light.

“So today we are going to work more on your control. Your brute force is not a problem, but I would rather you didn’t knock over someone’s house moving a large rock disturbing the farmland,” Castiel explained.

Dean’s smile faltered.

While Dean was getting better at controlling his magic, so much better than Castiel could have ever hoped he would be, he was still lacking the finer control. He could rip a tree up with roots should he so wish, but depositing logs in neat rows was still a challenge.

Castiel placed three stones, each about the same weight in front of Dean in a neat row. They weighed nowhere near enough to make for a real challenge.

“First, I would like you to lift the stones one by one and move them into a neat row in front of the tree trunk over there.” He pointed towards where he’d placed a log for target practice.

Dean nodded seriously, eyes turning smaller as he focused on his targets.

The first stone rose without a problem, sailing controlled through the air as if it could fly like a bird. Dean planted it neatly in front of the trunk, looking satisfied, before moving on to the next stone.

The second stone followed, neatly placed, as did the third.

“Now I would like you to move the two outer stones, and just those, back to where I placed them originally.”

“Sure thing,” Dean winked at him, smiling widely. Castiel returned his smile with a smaller one, not reciprocating his flirtatious manners. 

Castiel folded his hands behind his back, following the stones as they rose simultaneously and sailed back through the air, landing neatly almost exactly where he’d positioned them in the first place.

“Well done. Now the last stone.”

Dean nodded, eyes turning towards the last stone.

Except it was not the stone that rose. The trunk behind it lifted elegantly, flying through the air towards them.

Almost too late Castiel realized the panic in Dean’s eyes.

How fast the log was moving towards them.

“DOWN!” he yelled, tackling Dean to the ground as the log sailed above their heads, crashing into the tree line behind them with a sickening crunch. It fell to the ground with a loud thumb, shaking the earth beneath them with the weight. 

They would have been hurt badly had it hit them. Or killed.

Dean was gasping underneath him.

Castiel rolled off.

“What the hell was that?” he demanded angrily.

“I don’t know!” Dean answered breathlessly, green eyes on the trees the trunk had crashed into. They were carrying ugly wounds, the bark destroyed.

“You were supposed to lift the  _ stone _ !”

“I tried, I tried!”

“You need to get better control, Dean! You could have killed us! How am I supposed to teach you if I have to fear being maimed by flying trees?”

Castiel’s heart was beating hard in his ribcage, blood rushing in his ears in a way that made him feel sick to his bones.

He wanted to throw up more than he wanted to yell.

Fear was cursing through his veins.

Wild magic was so dangerous. He thought Dean had better control than that. Thought his teaching was actually making a difference.

“It is, Cas,” Dean whispered, green eyes swimming with tears.

Had he really said that out loud? He shook his head.

“Dean, do you have any idea how dangerous you are when you aren’t exercising utmost control over your magic? You are trying to tame the stormy ocean keeping your magic behaving at your will. That tree trunk should not, would not, have been flying towards us if you’d taken the exercise as seriously as you did with the first two stones. It is not a piece of cake, not when you are this powerful.” Castiel realized he was no longer sounding angry, just resigned.

“I’m sorry.”

And Dean really did look like he was sorry. He looked like Castiel had asked him to kill a puppy and revive it, just to tell him that there was no coming back from the dead.

Castiel had a sour taste in his mouth, bile rising in his throat. He had not meant to upset Dean, the anger a pure reaction to his fear. The incident had reminded him exactly how dangerous Dean could be. Dean needed to know that too.

“Come with me.”

He stretched out a hand, helping Dean back to his feet.

“I still don’t think you truly understand how dangerous your magic is. I don’t think you fully appreciate the power you’ve been born with. I need you to understand, I need you to respect it,” he said as they walked towards the entrance.

Castiel pushed open the heavy doors, ignoring Dean’s poorly concealed sniffle as they walked towards his chambers.

“Sit,” he said before closing the door behind them. “I suppose this is also partly my fault. While I think you grasp that your magic running wild is a horribly bad thing and could kill you... I don’t think I made you aware how dangerous you performing magic without having your full focus on the task can be. To be fair I was more worried about the first, but I see now that I should have paid more attention to the second.”

Dean shrugged, green eyes not meeting his.

“There is something I need to show you. You’ve seen the scar on my face, I know you might have an idea that it goes beyond that.”

Dean nodded slowly. His shoulders were slumping, and Castiel could feel sadness and guilt radiating from him, making the air thick.

“I am not telling you this to make you feel bad. I am telling you this in the hope it might make you understand better. Help you remember why you came here to learn,” he said gently. He wasn’t angry at Dean, he knew he had overreacted, yelling like that. But if he had to be honest he had not expected Dean to lose control, not over such a simple task.

Dean swallowed heavily, still not looking at him.

Castiel started undressing, for once unapologetic about his body.

He could feel Dean’s eyes on him as he opened his pants and let them fall to the floor with a soft sound, the only thing still covered being his genitalia.

Dean looked like he was going to be sick.

“This was a lucky scenario. By all accounts I should have been dead,” Castiel said, putting steel into his voice. He needed Dean to understand. “I was turning away as her magic exploded. She killed herself, she took out several buildings and killed two civilians. Maybe my magic protected me, I was within the killzone. Maybe it was just dumb luck.”

He gestured towards the burns that discolored his skin, that made it stiff and itchy, that covered a large part of his upper body and most of his right thigh. It was clear that he had been turning away by the way only parts of his body had been affected.

Dean pointed towards the gnarled scar running down the side of his left hip, extending the width of his hand up his side and a little less down the thigh.

“That looks different.”

“It is. This is not from that explosion. This is from when she lost control of her magic the first time, while we were exercising here, much like we were today. It could just as easily have killed me.”

Dean went even paler, lips a thin tight line on his face.

“I should probably have shown you this earlier,” Castiel admitted, bowing down to gather his clothes. 

Now Dean would understand why his motions were sometimes awkward, why there was a significant difference in his abilities to do a pose to the left and right. Castiel huffed. Dean probably had not paid any attention to the difference, but it was likely he would now. Fifteen years of healing, hard work, and magic had made a big difference. His scars were no longer painful unless he stretched the skin too much, and years of applying whatever concoction Ellen came up with had done a lot for the flexibility of the skin.

“Why?” Dean croaked. His breathing seems shallow, Castiel noticed as he redressed before sitting opposite of his student.

“Because you needed to know. You needed to understand this, even if you do not like it.”

“That’s what would have happened if you hadn’t been home that night?” Dean gestured vaguely towards his torso.

“No, Dean. It would have been so much worse. No humans would have been around, so you would likely have killed no one but yourself, had I been out. I do not think the blast of your magic would have reached the village, but I also cannot be certain. You are extremely powerful. This estate would have been razed to the ground.”

Dean pinched his lips together, looking back at the desk.

“I could have killed you today, too,” he said. The words sounded painful.

“Yes. And yourself.”

“What would happen to my magic then? If I’d killed myself today with that log?”

Castiel shrugged. He lacked knowledge around the death of mages and what happened to their magic. “I cannot be sure, but with how controlled your levels are right now, I believe it is unlikely anything would have happened. If your control were slipping more than it was, or your magic levels had reached the danger zone again, I believe it is likely the magic would have exploded. But I might be wrong.”

Dean grimaced.

“It is hard to say for certain. I do not know why some magicians struggle with keeping their magic under control. I do not know why some go out in an explosion when killed, and why some do not. There is so much yet to know about magic, so much we do not understand. I know the risk of exploding is higher, the higher the level of magic and the lower the level of control, but…” Castiel sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I wish I could give you an answer.”

“But you can’t.”

He shook his head.

“So even if I do get full control over my magic, even if I learn everything there is to learn, there is still a risk I’d kill people and go out in a blaze if a robber stabbed me and killed me?” Dean asked, brows knitting together as if that were particularly difficult to understand.

“Yes,” Castiel answered truthfully. Dean needed and deserved the 

Dean quieted, and Castiel didn’t know what else to say. He had told Dean what he needed to say, had shown him what he needed to see.

They sat there in silence. Long enough that Castiel started to notice how he felt. He was frustrated he had no better answers for Dean. Angry with himself that it had taken him so long to show Dean what wild magic truly looked like on human skin. Happy that he had finally allowed someone to see him undressed after so long. Relieved that Dean had not reacted with disgust the way he had feared. 

He moved, uncomfortable with all the feelings running underneath his skin. Before Dean’s arrival he had felt so little, cared so little about the world around him. To suddenly feel the passion of teaching, to get to know another human being… it was taxing. In a good way, he supposed, but bone deep exhausting, nevertheless.

Dean kept quiet, and Castiel decided he had wallowed long enough in his own thoughts.

“Come on, let’s get some dinner.”

“I’m not really hungry,” Dean mumbled. His voice sounded off, but Castiel did suppose he’d just sprung a rather big thing on his student.

“I know, but I could use the company.” He made sure to talk in a gentle voice. He wanted to make sure Dean knew he was no longer angry.

It took a few moments of coaxing before Dean agreed to come with him down into the kitchen. While Castiel cooked per Ellen’s instructions, he made sure to uphold a light conversation with Dean.

Slowly but surely he coaxed Dean out of the strange mood their conversation appeared to have left him in. By the time their dinner was ready he was smiling again. Maybe it was a bit strained, but Castiel did not care. 

All that mattered was to see Dean smiling again. 

Once they were done eating, Dean looked at him seriously.

“You’re not going to throw me out?”

At first he was shocked that Dean would even ask such a thing. Then he remembered that more than one of Dean’s former masters had given up on him for less.

“No. I am not.”

Dean drew patterns on his plate with the spoon, creating an annoying sound. He didn’t seem to notice, too caught up in following the spoon around with his eyes. “Why not?”

Castiel frowned. “Why would I?”

“’Cause I am obviously a danger and too dumb to teach. You’ve told me time and time again that I need to focus on the tasks, no matter how easy it may seem. And today I didn’t, and I was a danger to you and myself. There is no excuse for that,” Dean said as if it were a fact. “So you…”

“Stop!” Castiel raised his voice to make Dean stop talking. Green eyes looked at him with terror.

“I don’t want to go back out there and be a danger to everyone Cas,” he breathed.

“I am not throwing you out, nor am I going to stop teaching you, so stop wallowing in self disgust and listen. You made a mistake today, yes. You acted foolishly, which I expected you would do at some point. All my students have. This does not make you more or less special than anyone I taught before,” he explained. “You are young, you have not had proper schooling before this. I do not believe you will be as careless as you were today again.”

“I won’t.” Dean's voice was small but certain, his green eyes back on the spoon dancing around on his plate.

“I know. So stop beating yourself up over it. I needed to make sure you understood the severity of the situation if you kept up the same behavior, and I apologize if I overdid that.” He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “I was mad because I got scared, Dean. Your magic is powerful, and if you do not use it with thought it could get extremely dangerous very fast.”

Dean swallowed audibly. “I’m sorry I disappointed you.”

Castiel shrugged as if it did not matter. “I have a feeling it is not going to happen again.”

…

When Castiel had said he felt like Dean would not let his focus drop again, he had not anticipated quite how seriously his young student would turn. There was less joking around, less flirting. Something hard had settled in Dean’s eyes, something Castiel was not quite certain he liked.

He missed the touching. He missed Dean leaning too close when they had a break. Missed the way Dean had used poses as an excuse to have Castiel touching him.

It should not hurt to see his student so focused on their work, but it did somehow. Like Dean did not think he could be his happy, flirtatious self while focusing on being the best student possible. Castiel almost brought it up several times, wanting to ask Dean why he had decided to change that, but didn’t. It would give away that he had noticed it, and more importantly, Dean would know he missed the contact, that Castiel craved things he should not.

Yet, seeing how hard Dean worked, how could he be anything but proud? Maybe he hated that he was no longer getting the attention from his young student, but the pride that filled him when he watched Dean perform magic made up for that in so many ways. 

Dean was moving miles ahead of what Castiel would have thought possible in such a short span of time. Moving multiple objects was no longer a problem and had not been for days. Keeping control over small tasks seemed easy.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a student advance as fast as you do, Dean.” A smile tugged at his lips.

Dean beamed at him, eyes radiating like the sun. Castiel’s own, personal sun.

“If you keep it up I will run out of things to teach you,” he added with a teasing smile. He had anticipated taking Dean on for years when he had agreed, but seeing how quickly the young mage advanced, Castiel was no longer certain it would take him that long to learn the necessary abilities.

“I highly doubt that,” Dean replied with a cocky smile. And there it was, the easy banter between them Castiel had missed so much.

“It is true.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“No, I am not. Do I look like I am defecating?” Castiel asked, confused. Sometimes Dean said the oddest things.

“It’s just a saying, Cas.” Dean rolled his eyes, still grinning from ear to ear, making his eyes crinkle around the corners. “You still haven’t taught me to do a thunderstorm.”

“There is still a way to go before I teach you that. A bit more control, I suppose, and then we can start on the elements if you want to.”

Dean made a whooping sound, moving his hand in a victorious gesture. “Are you kidding me? Ever since you told me you could call up a thunderstorm I’ve been looking forward to being able to do that!”

Castiel laughed, smitten with Dean’s enthusiasm, hoping that it meant Dean would finally let up a bit, that their relationship could go back to what it was. Maybe Dean had thought he was mad, that he would toss him out if he did not work harder than anyone else. Of course Castiel would not, but no matter how many times he said so, it didn’t seem that Dean quite understood that.

Maybe Castiel should praise Dean more often, let him know with certainty that he’d done well.

“Well, you aren’t quite there yet. Thunderstorms might take years of hard work before you are able to call them. But simpler and less taxing magic should not be a problem.”

Dean’s face fell a bit. “ _ Years _ ?” he repeated.

“Yes,” Castiel replied. “I imagine you can do it faster than that if you put in the same amount of hard work I’ve seen from you lately, but in the end, it really depends on you.”

Dean hardened his jaw and nodded, but it only lasted for a moment before he broke into another big smile. “What are we waiting for then? Let’s get started!”

Thankfully, it was one of the evenings where Ellen was around late to cook for them. Castiel was so exhausted he could barely lift his feet, and he feared that sitting down in the kitchen would mean he was unable to get back up to go to his room.

Dean seemed even worse. Castiel had drilled them hard, each time he thought Dean was too tired to continue, the young mage had surprised him with more energy and hard work.

There had been more smiles and easy banter, making Castiel’s heart feel lighter than it had done since he’d shown Dean his scars a week back.

Dean shuffled behind him, groaning tiredly as he took the few steps into the kitchen.

“My, my. You boys sure looked tired,” Ellen said as they seated themselves in their usual spots.

Castiel nodded, too tired to correct her calling him a boy.

“Dean did great today,” he mumbled, the words falling over one another. Ellen seemed to understand it either way, and nodded approvingly towards the green-eyed mage.

“Dinner is ready in a minute or two. Please make sure to get some water.”

Castiel nodded again. It took him two tries to lift the glass to his mouth and drink, his muscles drained of energy. The last time he had felt so exhausted was after he rescued Dean, but back then sitting with a hot meal and relaxing had not been an option.

Out of the corner of his eye Castiel watched as Dean drank obediently. It would not be below Ellen to withhold their dinner until they had hydrated, and Castiel knew better than to think he was the master in the kitchen just because he owned the estate.

Ellen served them a hefty stew with bread brushed with a generous amount of butter stirred with garlic and herbs.

The bread tasted nothing short of amazing. Castiel could have sworn he had never had anything as delicious, but he knew that it was unlikely. His body was likely just happy to finally be fed, and anything Ellen had served would have been wonderful in that moment.

“This is great,” he said, slowly lifting the spoon to his mouth to taste the stew. It was warm, hearty, and filled with taste just like the buttered bread. He hummed happily around his spoon.

Ellen smiled at him. “I figured you boys could do with some solid food after all you’ve been doing.”

“Mhm,” Dean confirmed, still chewing on the piece of bread he had started eating. “Delicious,” he added once he had swallowed.

“Are things going as planned?” she asked.

“Much faster,” Castiel said, pride making his body straighten even though he could have sworn he did not have any energy left for that. “Dean is doing great. I could not be happier with his progress. We’ll be starting on the elements very soon.”

Dean moved as if the praise made him uncomfortable. “I’m not that good, Cas.”

“Yes, you are. I dare say that you are the brightest student I have ever had the honor to teach.”

“You also haven’t taught anyone in years.”

Ellen looked like she was about to say something, body stiffening. Castiel huffed at that, close to laughing.

“That is very true, but I am not old enough that my memory is failing me just yet.”

Ellen seemed to relax at that, as if Dean’s words would have brought something uncomfortable up for Castiel. And that would have been true before Dean came along and brightened his existence.

“You say that,” Dean retorted with a small smile around his lips.

“Do you see what I have to deal with on a daily basis, Ellen? How about you take over his education for tomorrow and I do the cleaning and cooking?”

Ellen shook her head, a wide smile playing around her lips as if she enjoyed being included. Castiel supposed she did. She had always enjoyed it before, when he had students or friends visiting. Just having him for company the entire day had to be boring and lonesome, especially considering the circadian rhythm he had before Dean.

“I do not think that would go over very well,” she admitted.

“I do know what end of a broom to use,” Castiel argued. “And while maybe not tomorrow, I would appreciate it a great deal if you could teach Dean some of what you know. I think he could do with a more well rounded education, and knowledge about the human body, healing, and mind would be good.”

Dean nodded beside him. “You were the one who helped Cas, after, right?”

“Yes, I was,” Ellen confirmed.

“Then I’d like to learn if you are willing to teach. Heck, Cas could come too, when you teach me? If this is good for my well-rounded education I’m sure he could benefit from it too.” There was a teasing grin playing around Dean’s lips as he said it, but Castiel could tell he was sincere as well.

He had thought about it before, asking Ellen to teach him more than just the basics. But for whatever reason he had never asked her. Something had kept him from it.

“I’d love that, if you are willing, Ellen. I’ll compensate you, of course.”

“Nonsense,” she said. “I just want you boys to be able to do as well as you possibly can, and I suppose teaching you the wonders of the human body is part of that. The more healers that are out there the better.”

Castiel felt his chest swell with happiness at that. He was lucky to have Ellen around.

“Then that is a deal.”

“How about your greenhouses, Cas, are you gonna teach me my way around plants too?”

“Some of them certainly, the rest would depend on your interest in the subject.”

Dean nodded. Ellen got them both a second helping, and Castiel was glad that the stew seemed to have replenished his energy. Maybe he would be able to get back into bed after all. It would be awkward if he had to ask Ellen to carry him. 


	7. Chapter 7

“Don’t you want to join us?” Dean asked, a warm smile playing around his lips. He looked especially breathtaking, wearing a tunic in a green colour that made his eyes shine in a way Castiel could have sworn they had never done before.

He shook his head. They had discussed it before.

“Next time, then,” Dean said like he had done the previous time.

Castiel just sighed, what else could he do? It was the third time he outright had refused to join Dean and Ellen on a trip to the village, and Dean showed no signs of ending his stupid quest of getting Castiel to go with them. Castiel had tried to explain that the villagers would be happier without him there, tried to tell Dean that they likely still saw him as the mage who had not managed to save the city.

It would be better for both Ellen and Dean that they went alone.

Dean turned on his heel with a happy wave, half running, half jumping, to catch up to Ellen who’d started walking. Of course Dean was excited to get out of the estate a bit, to see something different. It had been… how long had it been, actually?

Castiel tried to count backwards and figure it out, but his memory seemed to fail him. At least two months, likely more, he concluded.

Two months or more where Dean had seen nobody but him and Ellen. Of course he needed the stimulus of new faces, Castiel could not really blame anyone for being more social than he was.

Once Ellen and Dean were completely gone from his sight, Castiel went back inside.

…

Dean had sought him out in his chambers shortly after Ellen and he arrived back home. Castiel assumed his student had helped Ellen put their purchases in their proper places.

“Why are you refusing to go to the village with us?” Dean asked after pushing open the door. He had knocked but not waited for Castiel to answer.

Castiel should scold him for his lack of respect, he could have been tending to private matters, but answering Dean’s question seemed more pressing.

“I do not wish to go.”

“Yeah, I gathered that,” Dean said with a roll of his eyes, obviously not caring about acting like a teenager. “Doesn’t really answer  _ why _ you don’t want to, though.”

“You do not need to know everything,” Castiel said shortly. He was getting annoyed with his student, angry that Dean would not just respect that he had no interest in going to the village.

Dean shrugged and threw himself upon Castiel’s bed, lounging there like he belonged. Something about that gesture made Castiel’s blood boil for entirely different reasons. It was so easy to imagine Dean being his when he behaved exactly like that was the case.

“You do know that the villagers don't hate you?” It was said like a statement, even though it was formed as a question.

“They do. And they should. Stop nagging me about it Dean, I am not going.”

“Are you afraid that they will see you with another student who is ready to explode and attack us? Because they know me at this point, and they trust Ellen. Heck, they even ask about you, wanting to know if you are doing okay.”

Castiel grit his teeth at the sounds of Dean’s lies. Ellen had tried to tell him the same, year after year, but he knew it wasn't true, knew that the people would not have forgiven him that easily.

“They want you back Castiel, want you to help with water magic when there is a drought or with dispelling pests from the crops. They need their magician. The village is not thriving without you,” Dean continued to argue.

“What do I need to do to shut you up about this matter?” he asked, letting the annoyance shine through his voice.

“Prove me wrong. Go with Ellen and me to the village and show us that the people want to harm you, that you aren’t still respected among them.”

“I killed one of theirs.”

“I know your student died, Cas,” Dean said gently.

“No, not just her. I was not the only one harmed when her magic went rogue.”

Dean swallowed audibly. 

“A child came in harm's way too. His burns were too severe. Ellen told me he suffered for two days before passing. How could his parents ever forgive me for my fault? I was the one who took a student who I knew was unstable down to the village. I was the one who did not make sure the child was out of harm's way when I could tell things with Meg were getting dangerous fast.”

“Meg?” Dean frowned.

“My former student.”

Castiel hadn’t realized he had never said her name out loud before. He had no idea what it meant that he finally acknowledged her as the person she had been rather than just a nameless, faceless student. She was no longer just one of many. 

He swallowed heavily, trying to will down the emotions. 

Part of him still missed her sass and rebellious tendencies. Part of him hated her for what she had done to him. The biggest part hated himself for not being able to teach her, not knowing enough to save her.

Once again he tried to swallow. 

“If I go with you, it will just be that once. I will not hear of the matter again.” His voice was shaking more than he liked it to.

Dean swung his legs to the ground, and before Castiel was really aware of what was happening, Dean had his arms around him hugging him tight.

“Thank you, Cas, you won’t regret it.” His voice was woolen from where his face was buried against Castiel’s shoulder.

Castiel just stood there, like an awkward statue, arms hanging down his sides. He wanted nothing more than to hug Dean closer, to feel his body press against his own, but that was dangerous territory. That was a line he should not cross. Even he knew that.

Instead he opened and closed his fists, waiting for Dean to withdraw, not wanting to deliberately stop the contact either. He craved it too much, had too little self-control to stop what was happening.

When Dean finally withdrew he kept close, smiling like Castiel had just hung for him the moons and the stars. 

Castiel did not understand why agreeing to visit the village meant that much to Dean.

Castiel swallowed down the desire to step forward and close the half foot distance between them, swallowed down the burning lust that craved Dean underneath him. Castiel hungered to know what Dean would taste like, what he would smell like.

God he wanted so much.

With the last straw of willpower Castiel stepped back. Dean looked oddly disappointed at that.

“I assume we are going next time Ellen needs supplies?” Castiel asked, hoping to have a few days to prepare for the catastrophe it was going to be.

“Yeah, that’s the plan,” Dean replied hoarsely. He was still smiling. 

Castiel felt both relieved and disappointed when Dean left the room. His body was humming with desire, screaming at him to follow Dean, to press him against a wall and kiss him stupid. For a moment the picture was so strong in his mind he started walking towards the door, until he remembered why he couldn’t.

As long as Dean was his student, as long as Dean depended on him for his safety and life, Castiel had power over him. The relationship would never be equal the way he wanted, and he would never know for certain if Dean did it out of some odd sense of wanting to repay Castiel.

It did not stop him from craving it. His skin was buzzing where Dean had touched him, his erection throbbing from a contact that had not been sexual by any means.

Castiel closed his eyes, wondering if he could will away the blood running south.

After a minute he gave up on that thought.

Dean had put a spell on him. Even as a teenager he had not experienced as many awkwardly timed erections.

For a moment he stared dumbly at the door. Then he locked it. Grabbed a flannel from the closet.

There was plenty of time before dinner.

He swallowed heavily. What he was about to do was so inappropriate he did not even have words for it, yet it was a far cry from the first time.

He could, would, feel guilty later.

Castiel ran a teasing hand down his front body, closing his eyes, once again imagining Dean. With how close he’d just been, it was easy. Castiel knew what he smelled like, how his hands felt against his skin.

Dean would not open his pants right away. He would gently tease around the erection, make Castiel pant for him, ready to beg if that was what it took.

He wasn’t going to last long.

God.

Castiel palmed his throbbing member through his thin trousers, whining low in his throat at the delicious feeling that spread throughout his body.

He ran a flat palm up and down his length, pressing down just the right amount of hard to create the kind of friction he wanted.

Dean really did a number on him. Castiel opened his pants, took himself in hand, panting. Dean would kiss him, before opening his own pants, fisting them both. Their hips would roll in a perfect rhythm. Dean’s stamina would be as much of a mess as his own, their sexual tension all the foreplay they needed.

Castiel moaned at the thought of Dean’s erection against his, pressure building low in his stomach and around his groin. He lasted another tug before coming all over his hand and the flannel he had the foresight to grab.

And as expected he barely came down from his orgasmic high before the guilt hit him like it always did. It was one thing to lust after Dean, it was another to masturbate to the thought of being with him. Again.

Castiel was truly a horrible human being.

…

Four days later Ellen announced that they’d have to go to the village the following morning to gather supplies.

Castiel’s heart was beating fast enough that he was certain both Ellen and Dean could hear it. His hands felt clammy and if he didn’t know better, he would claim he was about to be sick.

He also felt certain that neither of them would believe him.

He did not sleep that night, tossing and turning in his bed, wondering what excuses he could come up with to avoid the trip to the village.

None seemed plausible, and neither would any save him from looking at Dean’s disappointed face when he announced it.

If he did go down there, and people did in fact turn out as horrible as Castiel anticipated, then Dean would see that he was telling the truth and that Castiel was right to stay away. Dean would stop nagging him about it, and what would Castiel really have lost with that?

He held a tiny hope that maybe Ellen and Dean were in fact telling the truth? That all had been forgiven and forgotten?

It seemed so unlikely that the parent’s of that little boy would feel that way. After all, his lack of abilities and knowledge had killed their son.

Why would the shopkeepers have forgiven him? It was his student who had gone rogue. Ellen had told him that more than one building had suffered damage.

But still, the rest of the village, who had not been directly affected by Meg, maybe they would have forgotten and forgiven.

Castiel did not want to face the village and see the hatred he felt towards himself mirrored in their eyes. He did not want to know for certain he was right, and that they were terrified of him.

When the sun started shining through his blinds, Castiel decided to get up. There was no point in staying in a bed that offered him no rest.

Dean was up too. Ellen would stay behind and prepare their lunch for them. She had shown Dean the roads and made sure he knew exactly what and where to buy what they needed. It didn’t help his nerves much that it would only be the two of them, outside his safe haven, his home.

They ate breakfast in silence. Castiel struggled to swallow and keep his down, nerves making his throat feel closed off and the porridge taste like mud.

If Dean noticed him picking at his food, he didn’t say anything about it. Castiel was grateful for that.

Dean handed him a sturdy backpack before putting on one himself.

Was he supposed to feel something other than an overwhelming desire to puke? His feet felt like they had been buried underneath the ground, that little did they want to step outside and walk toward the village.

“Thank you for doing this, Cas,” Dean interrupted the loaded silence between them.

Castiel swallowed down the bile in his throat. “Don’t think I’m doing this again,” he got out. It felt like too many words would make him sick.

“I’m not.”

“I am only doing this because you kept nagging.”

“I know,” Dean sent him a bright smile. Castiel wanted to return it but found himself unable to do anything but grimace. “That must mean I’m pretty special, right? I’m sure Ellen has nagged you over the years too.”

“You are,” he admitted before realizing what he had said. “And she is not nearly as annoying as you are.”

Dean's smile grew wider, triumphant. He looked like he was about to say something, but could not quite find the words to do so in the way he wanted.

“Do not let it go to your head,” he said, hurriedly, before Dean got a chance to gather his thoughts and say something that he would maybe regret later. Castiel had seen the hopeful smile when he had admitted that Dean was indeed special, seen the way his eyes lit up with the confession.

He could not deal with whatever Dean was about to say. Going to the village was more than enough already.

“I won’t,” Dean agreed softly. His eyes looked more subdued, like he somehow understood what Castiel had tried to say with his strange choice of words.

They continued to walk. Dean didn’t say more, and Castiel honestly did not have the focus for trying to figure out an appropriate topic for a conversation.

He still wanted to turn around and run to the safety of his home.

A few times he almost did so, but looking at Dean… no, he could not let him down like that. Dean had worked hard. Castiel had to be willing to do the same, show him that it was worth it to keep fighting. He just hoped that the visit would not destroy Dean’s belief in humanity. He did not want to see the brightness of his student’s soul dim with the horribleness of other people. And for some reason he had a feeling that Dean would take it harder than himself if things turned badly towards Castiel.

Much to Castiel’s surprise nothing happened when they entered the village. In his nightmares he had seen the people stand there with pitchforks and fire, yelling and screaming at him and forcing him away. In the really horrible ones, those he had suffered while feverishly delirious after his burns, they had burned him too. Whenever he had been sick afterwards, that had been his brain's choice of poison.

His hands were shaking, buried in his pockets so Dean would not notice.

They went to the market. It was early enough that all the stands had plenty of fruit, vegetables, bread and meat, but late enough that all the stands indeed had opened.

To his surprise Castiel saw many faces he recognized. Just like his own, they bore the mark of 15 years having passed. Wrinkles were deeper, hair thinner or greyer. But they smiled at him all the same, and told him that it was nice to see him.

At some point he had to pinch himself underneath his robes to make sure he was not having a strange dream.

“See?” Dean said, when they sat in the shade, enjoying freshly pressed apple juice. “They don’t hate you.”

“I am beginning to realize that,” Castiel agreed, looking over the marketplace. Not a single person had said anything hateful or sounded like they did not mean their well wishes.

Maybe he really had isolated himself without reason. Maybe it was truly just in his own head that the villagers hated him.

Dean smiled at him.

“I thought they would hate me, you know? I thought they would blame me for what happened. I have had nightmares about them hunting me out of the village, out of my home too. For so long I have feared that coming down here would mean that other people felt the same way about me that I do.”

“What do you mean, Cas?” Dean asked gently.

“I have hated myself for so long. For what happened. For not being able to stop Meg. For not knowing the magic that saved your life,” Castiel tried to explain. “And I thought that if I came down here, I would see the same hate in their eyes. Thank you for bringing me down here, Dean. Thank you for making sure I know that it is not the case.”

For once he did not hate how his voice quivered with emotions. He was so grateful, words were a poor substitute for showing how he felt. Dean had given him so much. There was no way he would ever be able to repay the young mage. Dean had given him back the desire to live. He had not felt like living in a long time.

“You shouldn’t hate yourself,” Dean said. He reached out, grabbed Castiel’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Castiel did not withdraw, instead he let the heat from Dean’s palm calm him.

“I am not sure I do any more,” he admitted, slowly. It was like a weight was lifted off his shoulders, like he could finally breathe freely again. It felt like Spring, a new beginning, a new life. It felt like the excitement of a new journey, like he was finally ready to move on.

Somehow Castiel felt like he should have known it was too good to last. He had just looked away from the market for a moment, to put his cider down beside him on the bench.

“Castiel?!” an angry voice snarled. “How dare you show up here? Don’t you have any shame in your life?”

Castiel’s head snapped up fast enough he could hear bones crack and give.

Even with 15 years having passed, it was easy to recognize Uriel. He had been a shopkeeper back when Castiel used to frequent the village. They had by no means been friends, but they had been cordial.

Castiel opened his mouth to answer, but Uriel continued: “I thought you would never show your ugly face here. I thought I was rid of you. I had to rebuild everything after what you and your dumb student did. I nearly lost all I had thanks to you and your shitty magic! And here you are! With a fag lover, never the less! I knew there was something unnatural about you!”

Dean’s hand was squeezing his harder. Castiel could feel Dean’s magic thrum with anger. It made it harder to control his own.

“And he is your student! I’ve heard him say so! When he walks around with Ellen like he owns the place! You are not welcome here, Castiel, neither are your unnatural and disgusting tendencies!” Uriel’s voice was rising in volume.

Castiel withdrew his hand, hoping Dean would not read something wrong into that action. Then he rose to his feet, feeling too small sitting down when Uriel stood.

“Uriel, I have nothing against you. Why are you causing a scene like this? No one else seems to harbor hard feelings towards me. Is 15 years not enough? Is almost being killed not enough of a repayment for my sins?”

“You never repaid me or the other shopkeepers. You never even visited the family of the boy who was killed,” Uriel snarled in his righteous anger.

Castiel winced. The words rang true. They were the same ones he had told himself over the years.

He wanted to appease Uriel, to say that he had not been well enough. And maybe that had been true for a while, but certainly not for all the years that had passed.

“You are a coward, Castiel! And I wish I had never met you or your killer student!” Uriel drew in a big breath.

“Don’t, Dean,” Castiel warned gently, hoping that Uriel wouldn’t pay any notice. But he knew Dean well enough to see how his pupil was getting ready to fight back. Castiel could handle his fights himself, he did not need Dean to do that.

“Uriel, I am sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t change that you have not been here for the past droughts. Sorry doesn’t change the fire that spread after she turned herself into human sauce. Sorry doesn’t change that so much was destroyed because of you!” Uriel yelled.

The angry, bald man stepped closer. Castiel had always thought his dark eyes were a fascinating and friendly set, but now they were filled with fire and brimstones.

When the hit landed on his jaw, sending his head back with an uncomfortable whip, it shouldn’t have been surprising, yet it somehow was. He stepped backwards, trying to regain his balance until his knees hit the bench he had just been occupying.

Castiel felt the anger blossom along the throbbing pain.

“STOP!” he yelled.

Uriel filled his lungs, puffing himself up like a cock ready to fight over the hens.

Uriel walked towards him.

“I do not wish to fight.”

Uriel did not listen. He moved closer, his body language screaming danger.

Castiel hoped Dean had enough sense not to fight the angry man. Uriel’s anger was not unfair. Castiel had destroyed many lives that day with his lack of knowledge. If hitting Castiel would appease some of that anger, he did not mind. 

Castiel landed hard when Uriel pushed him. He was an easy target since he refused to meet Uriel’s violence with magic.

Uriel picked up the bench Castiel fell over.

Castiel scrambled to his feet, barely managed to duck when Uriel took a swing at him. The bench continued to move, out of Uriel’s grip.

He watched as if in slow motion as the bench sailed through the air and into one of the shop stands.

Chaos ensued after that. People were screaming as the stand collapsed, horses ran in fear from the loud sound.

Then he turned towards Uriel.

“Please do not bother me until I am finished helping, then you can have your revenge somewhere it will not harm other people.”

Uriel gawked at him, mouth and eyes open in surprise by the turn of events.

Castiel didn’t pause to think when he heard an older girl scream in distress. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, throwing himself in front of her. His magic shield was up a second too late, and he gasped in pain as a horse’s hoof collided with his leg.

The girl was crying behind him.

He kept the shield up until certain that the horses had run away, then he dispelled it and turned to the girl.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

She nodded, tears streaming down her face.

“Get to safety.”

The girl nodded again, hurrying towards the outer edge of the market. An older woman grabbed her close, crying as much as the girl. Probably her mother, Castiel figured as he turned to look for Dean.

His heart was hammering. What if something had happened to Dean while he was busy playing hero? Then he spotted his student, safely moving debris from the collapsed stand. Dean was lifting away the beams, levitating with ease.

Castiel ran to help him, and by combining their force they managed to free a woman who had been caught in the back, underneath one of the beams.

“DOES ANYONE KNOW HEALING OR MEDICINE?” he screamed out, enhancing his voice with magic so that everyone in the nearby area would hear him. The woman had been badly hurt, needing medical attention right away.

She was bleeding heavily from her nose and a wound on her head. Castiel knew head wounds tended to bleed and look more serious than they were, but it was the bone sticking through her shin that really worried him.

Castiel wished he knew more about healing and was able to do something to relieve her pain. He understood why Ellen kept talking about teaching him, how powerful his magic could be if directed at the human body.

He wished Ellen had joined them at the market.

Someone came running over, the older women he had noticed before.

“I do,” she said, instructing them to keep pressure on the head wound and then she got to work. Castiel had seen Ellen do similar things before, one of his students had jumped from a tree, 20 years back, and hurt his leg in the same way the woman had now.

He closed his eyes, unable to watch as bones were set in place. He heard the woman scream in agony, felt her hand clutch his as if breaking his metacarpal bones would ease her own pain. If it could he was happy to provide a hand to crush.

When he opened his eyes again the leg looked much better, blood still oozing from the wound at an alarming rate.

“I need disinfected cloth to pack the wound so she doesn’t bleed out.”

That Castiel could do. Calling upon his magic he held pieces of cloth from the stand nearby into the air, thoroughly rinsing them with boiling water before cooling them with air until dry. One was willed tightly into the wound per the woman’s instruction, the two others were used to bind the first tightly there.

“She is not out of the woods yet. I need to get her to my place so I can suture the wound closed,” the familiar looking woman said. Her grey hair was sticking to her forehead where she was sweating heavily. She had been the one with the girl earlier, but Castiel could have sworn he had seen her elsewhere too. 

“I can carry her,” Dean answered. His voice was hoarse as if he had inhaled too much dust.

“You can use magic to make her lighter,” Castiel remarked. “If you two are good on your own, I will check if there are other people hurt underneath the debris.”

“Bring them to me if there is. But I did not see anyone in the stand with her earlier, so if God has mercy she is the only one hurt.”

Castiel nodded, mouth set in a hard line.

Hopefully Uriel’s anger would not have hurt any more.

Dean followed the grey-haired woman, carrying the younger one in his arms as delicately as he possibly could. She was still alert, which Castiel took as a good sign.

It turned out that the stand had indeed been empty aside from the woman with the broken leg. Castiel felt relief flood him as he used magic to remove the debris, slowly revealing the broken pots and clay work underneath.

A single figurine had survived the crash when the bench had broken a supporting beam.

Castiel swallowed heavily, setting the figurine safely to the side.

If he had not shown up in the city, none of that would have happened. Uriel would not have gotten mad, and would not have thrown the bench.

Closing his eyes he tried to recall what the stand had looked like before.

He was tired and limping, trying to take weight off the leg the horse had kicked in panic. He had twisted his ankle as he landed after the kick. It throbbed in pain. 

But he was so exhausted that he would not try. Castiel opened his eyes, calling upon magic once again. He mended the beam, slowly made the stand rise back. First he made the supportive beams stand where they had been before, concentrating to keep them there. Then he willed the horizontal beams in place, fastening them with magic as he grew the tree together like it was still alive. It would keep much better that way than it had with nails before.

He lifted the destroyed parts of the roof, just thin planks of tree, mended them together as if they had never been broken. Then he placed them back as they had been before, once again fastening them tree to tree like they were grown that way.

The stands were permanent, she would do better with something meant to last decades.

Sweat was dripping down his face as he slowly rebuilt the stand, quite a bit more solid than it had been before the accident.

His knees started to protest, the bad leg no longer wanting to carry him.

He, who had once been such a powerful mage, had been taken out by a horse and a market stand. It was embarrassing.

Castiel swallowed and stopped the flow of magic. He knew better than to continue past the limits of his own abilities. The stand stood better than before, looking as if it had never been destroyed. The pots and teapots and figures were still in pieces on the cobblestones, but Castiel had not paid them enough attention to know how to repair those with magic.

“Cas, sit down.” Where had Dean come from? Was he really that inattentive that he had not noticed his student sneaking up on him?

“I need to finish…” he protested, knowing very well he could not, not with how exhausted he was.

“You have done plenty.”

Dean guided him to a bench, a hand firmly around Castiel’s shoulders. He was embarrassed about how fast he had tired out, that Dean saw him like that.

He supposed the mental exhaustion from going to the village and not sleeping had a lot to do with it as well.

“Please tell me what to do while you rest,” Dean said. He was crouching down in front of Castiel, looking at him with pleading green eyes.

He lifted his gaze from Dean and looked over the marketplace to see where the damage was most dire. “The horses… please fix their fence so the villagers have somewhere to put them,” Castiel replied. “Do you remember how to mend trees? That will make for a stronger fence that won’t give if something like this should happen again.”

Dean nodded, mouth set in a serious line. “I can do that.”

And Castiel knew Dean had it under control, knew his student was more than capable. He leaned back on the bench, feeling the sturdy tree support his back.

Castiel watched while Dean worked, saw how he controlled his magic as if he had always known how to do that.

He looked powerful and magnificent, like mending a fence was barely more difficult than lifting a cup of tea to his lips in the morning.

Castiel swallowed. Dean would not need him much longer. It was not a matter of years, not at the rate Dean was learning. Castiel had never had a student so bright.

Or beautiful.

How long he watched Dean work he had no idea. But once the horse fence was mended, Dean continued to help the villagers with whatever else was needed. A stand had taken damage after a panicked horse had kicked it, trying to escape the madness.

Smaller things had been destroyed.

Dean repaired them under Castiel’s watchful eye, like he had never done anything else. Like he was meant to do so. Magic flowed easily from him. It was mesmerizing to watch. 

Castiel swallowed. The thought of Dean not being with him much longer hurt greatly. Dean was destined for greater things, that much was clear. But he wanted the young mage to stay, to fill his lonely estate with laughter and happiness and sass. Maybe Dean would stay if Castiel asked. But Castiel knew he could not do such a thing. It was not fair to Dean or to the world. Dean needed to be out among other humans, not cooped up with an old, crazy mage like himself.

He blinked back tears from the imaginary departure of his student.

When Dean threw himself on the bench beside Castiel, he was breathing heavily, sweat glistening above his brow.

“I see why you are exhausted. And I did less than you,” he panted.

Castiel smiled weakly at him. That was not the truth, but he knew that Dean was stubborn enough to never agree with him on that.

They sat side by side for a little while.

“What happened with that man? Uriel, is that what you called him?”

“I will tell you that story once we are rested. I do not know where he is now, and frankly, I find that I do not care,” Castiel replied. Uriel had probably fled the scene once he realized that his actions had consequences and that he could have killed people with his anger.

“Okay,” Dean agreed. 

It was nice that he finally trusted Castiel to tell the stories in his own time.

When Castiel tried to get to his feet, the wounded leg threatened to give out. He had managed to forget about it in the heat of the moment after he realized the stand had collapsed.

“Are you hurt?”

“I was too slow to shield myself and the girl from the horses. One of them managed to either kick or stomp on me, and then I twisted my ankle. I am sure it is nothing too serious,” he replied through gritted teeth. It hurt. A lot.

Dean stepped up close, lifting Castiel’s arm over his shoulder to support part of his weight. “Good thing I know where the town healer lives,” he said. There was a false lightness in his voice.

Together they moved towards the grey-haired lady’s house. It was awkward and slow and painful. Castiel wondered how he had been able to run on it earlier.

Once there, she quickly ordered him to sit before checking on his leg and ankle. “Nothing broken,” she said, after having manipulated his foot into more and more painful positions. It was sheer willpower that kept him from crying. “But you do have a bad sprain, likely from falling after the horse hit you. I am going to bandage it so you can’t damage it any worse, and then you need to be off your feet. Walk as much as the pain allows you to from tomorrow or the day after, but do not, and I repeat, do not do anything more strenuous than that.”

Castiel breathed out heavily. How was he supposed to get back home? It was not like Dean could levitate him the entire way. Had he not exhausted himself with rebuilding stands and fences, maybe he could have. But that was no longer an option. 

She turned to get the supplies needed. “If your toes start to turn cold or change color, loosen the bandage. It might swell further and cut off blood flow.”

“You seem awfully familiar,” Castiel mumbled as she bandaged his foot.

“You don’t remember me?” she looked up at him.

He stared into her brown eyes, willing his memories into place. He did not remember much from back then, most of the memories willed into a dark corner of his mind he preferred not to enter.

“Jody?” he asked weakly.

She nodded.

“I am so sorry.” His voice was quivering now, tears filling his eyes. For some reason he had not expected to see her again. Maybe he had anticipated her moving, the village being too painful a place for her after the death of her son.

“Why? Castiel, you didn’t kill Owen.”

“If I hadn’t brought Meg into the village…”

“Stop. That is bullshit, and you know it. I spent a lot of time being angry at you and blaming you for what happened, but Meg was a troubled young lady. If not there and then, with you to protect most of us, it would have happened later somewhere else. She was troubled, Castiel. I know you cared for her.”

A lump in his throat made him unable to talk.

Jody continued: “I was there, you know? I saw how you tried to throw yourself in front of Owen, how you tried to sacrifice yourself to save him.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice sounded broken even in his own ears.

Castiel hid his face in his hands, unable to hold back the tears. All those years he had been so certain Jody would hate him more than anyone else. That she would have been the one to throw things at him and cause him harm and hurt him the way he had hurt her.

He felt her motherly arms around him, holding him close as he cried. Why had he kept to his estate for so long, fearing her reaction? Why had he punished himself like that?

Why had he thought he deserved solitude?

At last he gave in, throwing his arms around her.

She mumbled gentle nonsense, rubbing a hand up and down his back in a calming motion. He could not remember the last time he had been held like that.


	8. Chapter 8

Castiel learned from Dean that the young girl he had saved from the horses was Jody’s adopted daughter, Alex. Owens' death had driven her husband crazy. He disappeared one night and never returned. She had been mad with grief.

Then Alex had entered her life. Someone had found the young girl wandering the streets. She could not have been more than two years old at the time. No one knew her, knew who she belonged to. They still did not. In the end it worked out. Jody had more love to give than she knew what to do with, and Alex needed that.

Castiel was relieved to learn that.

Jody had arranged a carriage to take them home, along with their groceries.

Uriel had not shown his face again.

His hatred for Castiel was his alone, not a representation of how the city felt.

“You know, Uriel has always been an ass,” Alex told him just before they left. “No one else would have anything against you and Dean, you know.”

Castiel blinked at her. Dean was putting groceries away in the carriage.

“I saw you before Uriel started yelling. You are sweet together. He makes you look happy, Castiel.”

“We are not… he is my student,” Castiel protested.

“But you feel that way about him, don’t you?”

Unable to deny, Castiel found himself nodding.

“Dean feels that way too,” she said casually, like he should already be aware of that.

And maybe, deep down Castiel was aware. But hearing it from someone else, a stranger, was something else. Castiel had known Dean was attracted to him for a while, suspected that Dean’s attraction ran deeper than that…

“Do you think so?” he asked, voice uneven. There was hope blossoming somewhere in his chest. Dean returning his feelings seemed so impossible. It was surely just fascination with an older mage, a teacher. That was normal among students. He had experienced it more than once before. Young people tended to confuse attraction and lust and respect with love. 

“I saw you two. I have eyes. I know he is in love with you,” Alex said with all the certainty of a teenager. “And you with him.”

“Oh,” he replied dumbfounded, unable to give her a good counter argument.

She smiled at him brilliantly before dashing out to the carriage. Castiel wondered what she was telling Dean. From where he was sitting he could not hear their words, but he saw the way Dean smiled, the way he straightened his back, he suspected her words to him were similar.

Not that it mattered.

Castiel still could not act on his feelings, not as long as Dean was his student. Just because Alex thought Dean was harboring something deeper towards him, did not mean it was necessarily true.

The thought still made his heart flutter and his belly fill with a tingling heat.

When Dean turned towards him with a bright smile Castiel had to swallow heavily. Having a light meal and a short rest seemed to have replenished his energy entirely.

Castiel let Dean help him into the carriage, unable to convince his ankle (or Jody) that it was fine to walk without support. His skin felt on fire where Dean touched him.

They sat beside one another in the carriage. Castiel told himself it meant nothing that Dean had chosen to sit plastered beside him rather than opposite. Of course, Dean would not know what it did to him, feeling the heat of Dean’s thigh against his own.

The carriage started moving. When had he last been in one? Castiel had no idea.

“I had not expected today to be so dramatic,” Dean admitted.

“Me neither.” Castiel leaned back in the seat. Knowing that he was on his way back to the safety of his home did a lot to calm him. It had been a day filled with emotions, and he was exhausted.

Dean swallowed beside him.

“Castiel… Alex said something that I can’t get my mind off of…”

He stiffened, certain that he knew that Dean was about to say. Alex had misunderstood the situation, misread their body language. Dean was not interested.

Castiel turned to look at Dean, ready for the rejection. Or so he told himself, his chest already painfully constricting at the thought.

Dean lifted a hand, gently caressed his cheek.

That seemed like an odd thing to do if he were about to tell Castiel that his feelings were inappropriate and that Dean did not feel the same way.

Then Dean leaned forward, pressing his soft lips against Castiel’s. It felt every bit as amazing as he had imagined it would.

It took him a moment to realize what was going on.

He placed a gentle hand on Dean’s chest and pushed him away. “I can’t,” he said. “I’m sorry Dean”

Dean looked at him with an open mouth, hurt flashing in his green eyes. Castiel wanted nothing more than to lean forward and kiss the look off Dean’s face, assure him that what they were feeling was real and valid and that there was a future for the two of them together.

But he couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair.

“Why?” Dean asked, demanded.

“I’m your teacher. You depend on me. It would by no means be right of me to abuse that relationship by forcing you into more. I really am sorry, Dean. I should not have led you on the way I did.”

“So you don’t care about me?”

Castiel swallowed heavily. “Not like that.”

“But Alex said… and you’ve…” Dean looked utterly broken, eyes moving fast over Castiel’s face as if the answer to Dean’s question would appear there.

“I am sorry I misled you.”

Castiel tried to keep his voice even, to make sure Dean understood there that was no room for discussion. He did not want a relationship with Dean, not as long as he could not be considered a free man. No one else could, would, teach him the way Castiel did. Others had tried and given up. Until Dean mastered magic, nothing more could happen. 

Castiel considered explaining that, but found himself at a loss for words. Dean could misunderstand it. He might feel like he was pressured into a relationship later that he might not want once he tasted the freedom waiting behind Castiel’s teaching. 

He swallowed heavily. 

“I thought…” Dean was interrupted by the carriage stopping outside the estate.

Castiel did not reply. He wanted to tell Dean the truth, but could not see how that would improve the situation. Knowing Dean, he would press against the boundaries Castiel would have to set, and Castiel was not feeling certain he could withstand the pressure.

He got out of the carriage.

He made the mistake of looking back at Dean. The young mage looked utterly heartbroken, like when Castiel… no, he could not remember a situation where Dean had ever looked at him like that. 

It burned in his chest and throat.

He hated to see Dean like that, hated that he was the one to put that look on his face. Hated that he could not offer any comfort or give Dean what he thought he wanted. There was just too much. Castiel had to be almost twice Dean’s age, old enough to have fathered him. They were both men. Not that the latter mattered to him, but it would matter to the outside world, as proven by Uriel. Just because Alex thought people would not care, it was not necessarily true. And what was more important: Dean was still in a desperate situation, depending on Castiel to stay alive and safe. Maybe it didn’t seem like that anymore, with his control improving by the day, but Castiel knew better. 

Or so he told himself, limping as fast as he could back towards his chambers.

Ellen stopped him on the way.

“I hurt Dean. Would you please take care of him?” he asked in a broken voice, before she even had a chance to interrogate him about his limp or why his jaw had a deep bruise forming.

He did not give her a chance to answer, just opened the doors to his chambers and locked them behind him. With his back against the door he let his knees give out, sitting on the cold floor.

What if he had destroyed everything between them?

What if Dean hated him now?

What if Dean never forgave him? How could he? Castiel had not even explained to him what was going on. After he had been reciprocating Dean’s flirtatious behavior earlier that day just to let him down in the least gentle way.

He was a horrible human being.

He listened to the front door open. To Ellen and Dean walking inside. Maybe Ellen had already brought the groceries in, because the door to Dean’s chambers was the one opening. They did not continue down to the kitchen like Castiel had expected them to.

They also did not close the chamber door. If he strained his ears…

It was not like he was able to hear much, just snippets of the conversation.

Ellen told Dean that Castiel cared for him. Dean confessed to having kissed Castiel, and how Castiel had reacted to it.

Random words out of context.

“But I love him Ellen.”

No doubt that was Dean’s voice. He sounded like he was crying. Castiel felt his chest constrict painfully, making it difficult to breathe. 

Why had they not closed the door?

He swallowed heavily. It felt wrong to listen in, yet he couldn’t make himself stop and respect Dean’s privacy.

“I know, Dean. He is in love with you too. Has been for a while, I think.”

Yes. Yes. Castiel had been in love with Dean longer than he wanted to think about. Longer than he wanted to admit. Maybe since Dean first set foot upon his estate and forced him out of his solitude and brought smiles and laughter into the loneliness he had caught himself in.

Castiel did not want Dean to leave. The thought of Dean one day leaving the estate made him feel sick to his bones.

He did not hear what Dean replied.

“I think he is afraid of you hurting him. I think he is terrified that your feelings are misunderstood or because you feel like you are in debt to him. He doesn’t want you to leave, once you are finished with your education, yet he won’t ask you to stay. He fears you’ll end up feeling like you are trapped here with him.”

Castiel swallowed. Hearing his thoughts out loud like that, said by someone else… it was painful in a way he could never have anticipated. Was he really that much of a coward?

“I wouldn’t leave. He must know that.”

“I think he does, and I think that scares him. He is so afraid of getting hurt again, Dean. He has been closed away from the world for more than 15 years, you have to understand what that does to a human being. We are meant to be social creatures.”

“He has punished himself all this time, hasn’t he?”

Castiel drew his knees closer to his chest. He felt too tired to cry, yet it was like his body was screaming for it. His eyes were burning, lips quivering. His hands were shaking where they wrapped around his shins. He felt cold. Bone deep cold. The hurt leg was throbbing painfully. It felt like he deserved it.

“Yes. He has barely let me come near. After he recovered, the only time he would allow me to touch him was when I rubbed ointment or oils into his skin to improve the flexibility. I could tell he wanted and needed more contact.”

Maybe he should be mad that Ellen was telling Dean all those private things, but most of it he had already told Dean himself. It would not be surprising if Ellen managed to explain it better, to get Dean to understand what Castiel had not managed to explain.

Maybe Dean would get it, then. Understand why Castiel could not be with him.

Maybe he would stop being mad. Maybe they could go back to how it had been before.

Castiel wished he had never gone with Dean to the village. If he had not, Dean would not have kissed him, and Castiel would not have rejected him.

It was a mess.

“Don’t hurt him, Dean. He has been hurt enough.”

“He is the one who hurt me, Ellen.”

Ellen said something Castiel could not make out over his own racked breathing.

For the second time that day he buried his face in his hands. This time he did not cry even though he wanted to. He did not deserve that relief.

…

It took three days before Castiel could look Dean in the eyes. Shame and guilt were his constant companions, filling his mind and body with a heaviness. He felt older than he had ever felt before, the time just after the accident included when he had struggled to move his body.

Dean still looked at him with hurt.

Castiel knew he deserved that. He had hurt Dean, even if Dean did not understand that it was for his own good.

“I’m going to the village for supplies. I’ll be eating lunch there.” Dean’s announcement during breakfast was not really anything out of the ordinary. He watched as Ellen handed Dean the list of necessities. It shouldn’t feel like Dean was out to avoid him by going to the village.

Yet it did.

And it hurt.

Like it had stopped hurting since Dean had kissed him.

Castiel looked into his porridge.

He kept staring at it until the door had closed behind Dean, who announced that he would be back later.

“That boy has really done a number on you, huh?” Ellen interrupted his sad sulking.

At first he did not want to answer. “Stay out of my relationship.”

Ellen snorted.

Castiel glared at her. Annoyed.

“You lost that right when you asked me to take care of Dean. You hurt him, Castiel.”

He moved uncomfortably in his seat, knowing that she was right. Had he not wanted her snooping around in his emotional mess, he would never have involved her like that. He knew better.

“I know.” The admittance was soft. He knew she understood him better than anyone, having known him the longest and seen him at his worst, more than once.

“What are you planning to do about it?” She looked stern, hands placed at her hips.

Castiel imagined his mother would have looked like that, had she cared enough about him to scold him for bad behavior.

“Nothing. What can I do? I have no intention of being with him as long as he is depending on me for survival.”

“Don’t play dumb. We both know that Dean has enough control over his magic these days that he would be fine without you. He could probably find another master to teach him, if he needed that. You’ve done a wonderful job with him. That can’t continue to be your excuse.”

“He feels like he owes me his life,” Castiel argued, brows furrowing.

“The boy may feel like he owes you his life, but he sure doesn’t feel like he owes you his love. That is freely given from a good and open heart.”

Castiel turned the spoon around in the cold porridge he had no intention of eating.

“His feelings are still misplaced, Ellen. I am his master, his teacher. He might not depend on me now, but he sure did earlier. I don’t want him to be with me out of some sort of distorted desire to repay a debt.”

“He is not. The only one who sees your relationship that way is you. Dean sees you as an equal in most ways,” Ellen replied. Her brows were lifted, arms crossed over her chest now, instead of on her hips. She was trying to prove a point.

Castiel wanted to throw the porridge, act like a spoiled child. He was frustrated.

“I want him.”

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“I cannot have him.”

She huffed. “Why not?”

“I just told you.”

He was getting annoyed with her. She was being stubborn, like she could change his mind. Ellen looked at him with raised brows like she was trying to convey her opinion that way.

“I am doing this for Dean,” he replied sternly.

“That’s a lie. You are not doing this for him. You may tell yourself that is the reason. You are doing this because you are scared of getting hurt again, because you are terrified that down the road Dean will leave you alone again. You are acting like a coward, Castiel. I know you can do better than that. You deserve to be happy, so does Dean.”

Castiel grit his teeth.

Her words made sense.

He hated how much sense they made. Hated that if she was right, he had hurt Dean, potentially beyond what the young mage was ready to forgive.

She watched him as his resolve broke down.

Waited until he had realized the stubbornness of his ways.

“I love him.”

“I know. What are you going to do about it?”

Castiel looked at her, lost. How was he supposed to know that? He had already destroyed it for himself, it would likely happen again. There had to be a limit to Dean’s forgiveness. At some point he would see Castiel for the weak coward he was.

He would realize that Castiel wasn’t worth the struggle. That he was broken beyond repair.

“I should talk to him?” he replied weakly, not sure what Ellen was asking of him. Talking to Dean seemed impossible. One wrong word and he could destroy everything. Again, he supposed. He did not want to make it worse.

“You should talk to him,” she agreed. “What are you going to say?”

“I am going to tell him the truth. About how I feel. Why I rejected him. Then I’ll let him make the decision for himself. He deserves the choice.” Castiel breathed out heavily. Something had lifted from his chest and it was like he could breathe more freely. He felt more certain about his decision by the second.

“You are going to tell him that you love him?”

“Yes.”

Ellen nodded, sent him a small smile. “I think that would help a lot. He is not mad, just hurt and unhappy that you don’t reciprocate his feelings.”

“I thought he hated me.”

“No, he doesn’t Castiel.”

…

Castiel paced in his chambers, waiting for Dean to arrive back home. Once he felt dizzy from moving in the small room, he went to pace the corridors.

Then he paced around the greenhouses.

Maybe Dean had changed his mind, down in the village. Maybe he had met someone more appropriate, someone closer to his own age. It could be that he had found another master and no longer needed Castiel.

No. Dean would never just take off. He still had his things in his chambers. He would say goodbye before leaving.

As the hours passed Castiel felt less and less certain of that.

Once the sun started to set he was terrified that Dean had left for certain. Nothing Ellen said could calm him.

He had no idea what he felt. Whenever he stopped the pacing his limbs felt jittery. He wanted to crawl out of his own skin. It was too big. Too small. Just wrong, in ways he could not explain. His stomach felt angry, his heart upset. His lungs constricted.

Maybe Dean had been hurt on his way.

It could be that he had not decided to leave, but was lying somewhere, having twisted his ankle. Castiel could feel his own protest in sympathy. He would not be surprised if it caused him a lot of pain once he stopped pacing.

Finally, with the last of the sun Dean arrived back home. He smiled weakly at Castiel when he limped towards him, offering to take some of the burdens.

Dean refused to hand Castiel anything.

“I think we need to talk,” Castiel said, hesitantly. What if Dean did not want to talk? What if he felt like everything there was to say had already been said?

“Yeah, we do.” Dean’s voice was hard, but after spending so much time together Castiel could sense the emotion underneath.

“Come to my chambers?”

“Only if you go there now and rest your foot. You are limping, Cas. It hurts to see you walk like that.”

Castiel sighed. It did not hurt that badly, and had certainly hurt less than sitting still would have with how wrong his body had felt.

“I will.” And with that he walked towards his chambers to await Dean's arrival there.

It did not take many moments before Dean arrived. Castiel had started the fire to provide them with light and heat. He had been good, propping his foot in a pillow upon his desk to raise it the way Ellen had insisted would help with swelling.

It felt utterly ridiculous to sit like that with Dean sitting normally opposite of him.

“I am sorry, Dean,” he said, trying to put enough feelings into those words that Dean would understand what he meant without needing further explanation.

“No, I am sorry, Cas. I should not have kissed you. I understand why you rejected me, it was highly inappropriate and it won’t happen again.”

“Please listen to me before you talk,” Castiel told him. He wanted to correct the wrongness he had done as fast as possible. “I am in love with you. I have been for quite a while, I think. I have kept telling myself that you could not possibly reciprocate my feelings, that the flirting was all in my head. I kept this narrative that it would be because you felt like you owed me something, that it was not real on your behalf.   
Never did I take time to listen to you, ask you how you really felt. And I am sorry for that. I did it to protect you, Dean. I am sorry. I will find a way to redeem myself to you.”

Dean blinked, mouth halfway open as if he wanted to talk but couldn’t quite find the words.

Castiel decided to continue: “You have given life back to my home, back to me. I was not living before you came around, Dean, not really. But I stopped living after that accident and never started again. You have made me want to live, given me something to fight for. If anyone owes someone something, it is me that owes you. I am still a broken man, but if you will have me, I am yours.”

“I don’t care that you’re broken, Cas,” Dean said slowly. “Do you really mean this?”

“Yes. I am sorry I haven not told you earlier, I truly thought I knew best and was protecting you.”

Dean ran a hand through his hair.

“Then why did you reject me? In the carriage?”

Castiel took a moment to look at Dean, really look at him, considering the words carefully before speaking. “Because I thought you felt like you owed me your life and that your actions were based on a warped sense of debt to me. Because our relationship is not that of equals, with me teaching you. Because I felt like you should have the chance with someone more appropriate, closer to your own age… because I wanted to give you freedom, once you have learned what little more I can teach you.”

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I didn’t want freedom? Maybe I just wanted to be here, with you?” Dean asked, mouth twisted in an unhappy pout.

“No, it did not and for that I apologize. I only took my own perspective and own feelings into account.”

Dean nodded, something like satisfaction on his face. “Apology accepted. But where do we go from here?”

Castiel swallowed.

Once.

Twice.

“I still stand by my original assessment. Our relationship is unequal as long as I am your teacher, and as long as that is the case…” he shrugged, not entirely certain where he wanted that sentence to end up. Somewhere along the lines of not wanting to touch Dean, to kiss him, to treat him as a lover. Except he couldn’t make himself say that out loud, not when it was what he desired the most.

“And when I am finished with my education?”

“Then it is something else entirely,” said Castiel with certainty. That would change everything.

“I will be a stronger mage than you by then,” Dean replied softly. “Won’t that matter?”

“Stronger in magic, perhaps, but you still lack years of control and training.” A wry smile was playing around his lips. Dean had taken the conversation surprisingly well. Part of Castiel had expected him to be terribly angry. Or hurt. 

“How long do you expect it would take me to reach a level where you would feel comfortable with a relationship?”

Castiel thought for a moment before replying: “Not long. A month or two, perhaps? You have been working remarkably hard and are exceptionally easy to teach, so my best estimate would be that you could reach your goals in that short of a timeframe.”

Dean’s face split in a warm grin. “You really think that highly of me?”

“You know I do,” he replied gently.

Dean continued to smile. 

When Castiel went to sleep that night, it was Dean smiling at him like that he kept replaying behind closed eyelids. Dean was lit up by the warm firelight, flames dancing, flickering against his skin in yellow, red, and orange tones. How it made his nose and cheeks look even redder where it had been kissed a bit too much by the sun, how his freckles were standing impossibly out against his brown skin.

Dean was beautiful.

Dean wanted him.

Dean was going to be his.


	9. Chapter 9

For some reason Castiel had never realized Dean could not read.

Dean had also chosen not to tell him.

In the end it was Ellen handing him a grocery list without telling what was on it, that made Castiel realize it. Apparently Ellen would usually just tell him what to buy, and Dean would memorize that. When she sometimes had handed him a list, it had been with oral instructions as well.

“I… Ellen, what does it say?” Dean asked, his face an impossible shade of magenta.

“What do you mean, what does it say? My handwriting might be bad, but I did write in block letters to make it easier on you,” Ellen said, turning around. Her hair was in a high bun that day, and with a wooden spoon in her hand she looked stern.

“I…” the young mage hesitated, looking everywhere in the kitchen but at Castiel or Ellen. “I can’t read.” His voice was barely more than a whisper.

Castiel opened his mouth in surprise or protest, certain that he had seen Dean read before. Then he closed it again, recalling the situations.

He had never seen Dean read. He just thought he had, multiple times. 

“I can teach you,” he offered.

Dean swallowed before looking at him.

“Won’t that just set my other studies back? I want to focus on that, for now.”

Suppressing a sigh, Castiel shook his head. “I don’t think it will. At this point your magic is mostly a question about you repeating things until it is as natural as lifting a glass to your mouth to drink. There is not much we can do to speed up that process, nor much we can do to delay it unless you decide to stop training all together. Reading might even be beneficial, seeing as it would enable you to study magical theory on your own.”

“I like it better when you teach me,” Dean said teasingly as if he was trying to lighten the mood in the kitchen.

Castiel returned his smile with a small one. “Maybe so, but reading is a fundamental skill. You should have been taught how to do so as a child.”

Dean’s face darkened.

Castiel realized too late what he had said. With Dean’s mom passing at a young age and his father being a magic-hating mean drunk, there was no one who could have taught Dean. With how clever Dean was, it seemed likely that he had managed fine without.

“It is not too late to learn, though. Never is. As of tonight we shall start studying the art of reading.”

Dean seemed to school his features, though the darkness did not quite leave his eyes. Maybe he seemed sad, more than anything else. Castiel did not quite know.

“Alright. But for now, would you mind telling me what the grocery list says?”

Castiel shook his head and read the list out loud. Ellen did have horrible handwriting.

It should not be surprising that Dean was as fast a learner in reading as he had been in magic, yet it somehow was. It took him a few hours to pick up the very basics of the skill, like he somehow could make up for years of lack of training with sheer willpower and hard work.

And maybe he could.

In the end it did not take many evenings before Castiel no longer had to sit beside Dean to help him sound out words. Instead the young mage would lift his head to ask him for help. But even that grew far in between fast.

Castiel did enjoy the low mumble that followed Dean’s reading, though. He sounded out the words as he read, low. It was a nice noise in the background, reminding Castiel that he was not alone in the library like he had been so often before.

As he had assumed, the work towards reading did not take away from Dean’s abilities in the field.

Castiel was immensely proud when he saw what his student could accomplish.

More slowly than Dean would like they moved towards more difficult tasks.

“I think you are ready for us to start summonings,” Castiel told Dean one sunny fall day. It was unusually mild weather for the season. “Of elements.”

Dean turned at him. At first he looked baffled, then his face turned into a bright smile. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. I think you are ready. Your control has improved by miles, your pronunciation has too. There is very little more I can teach you about controlling what is already there, and you have out mastered me in terms of endurance in most tasks. I do not see a reason to wait any longer.”

Dean made a whooping sound, jumping on the spot in victory as if he had already learned what Castiel was about to teach him.

His joy was infectious though and Castiel found himself smiling equally wide as he explained to Dean how to summon fire.

Then when fire turned easy, water.

And wind.

Dean seemed to never exhaust, but Castiel knew better, knew the sweat on Dean’s brow was not just from the warm sweater he was wearing.

“You need to rest before we move on,” he said sternly.

Dean shook his head.

“I can feel it. I’m so close Cas, please let me continue.”

Castiel sighed. “No Dean, I am sorry. But if you continue you will run yourself to the ground. I would rather you rest now and we can continue later today or tomorrow when you are ready.”

“I feel ready now,” Dean countered, stubbornly.

Why had Castiel ever agreed to take such a mulehead of a student? Scratch that, Castiel knew mules were less stubborn than Dean.

“Sure. I will not teach you until tomorrow, though.”

“Ca-as… that’s not fair. I just…”

Castiel sent him a sad smile. “I know Dean, I would also like to continue and get your education finished as fast as possible, but running you into the ground today is only going to delay it tomorrow.”

Dean sighed. He looked at Castiel while seemingly considering his words, before nodding shortly. “That’s fair. I’m not happy with it, but I can see the logic.”

Together they walked to the kitchen to enjoy a solid dinner, as always, prepared by Ellen. It was one of Dean’s favorites, to celebrate his progress, Ellen said.

When Castiel went to the library that evening to read, Dean did not join him. Maybe he was tired? After all it had been an exhausting day, and though Dean had been the one to do most of the work, Castiel had still demonstrated, corrected and helped him along when help was needed.

Teaching was exhausting, as it turned out.

Castiel did not realize he had been nodding off until his head snapped back up like a whip. How long had he been dozing in the chair? The fire beside him had grown considerably smaller, so it had to be quite some time…

He took a deep breath.

_ Ozone _ .

All of a sudden he felt wide awake, like the familiar smell of danger had banished is tiredness.

“Dean,” he whispered into the empty room.

Then he ran.

Ran towards where the scent was growing stronger. This time there was no hesitation in his steps.

The stench of ozone was growing stronger. Was Dean in danger? Had his magic been running wild? Castiel did not think it possible. They had been training way too much for that.

Castiel pushed open the front doors with the strength of a desperate man.

Dean stood in the driveway, feet planted widely in the gravel.

Wind was picking at his hair and clothes, his eyes shining with magic in a way Castiel had not previously seen. Maybe he was more than the ocean. Maybe he was like the ocean storms, that could sink even the biggest of ships and leave nothing behind when they roared. 

Over the wind Castiel could hear Dean chanting.

The stench of ozone was almost overpowering, enough to make him want to cough. But he could do nothing but stare at his student as Dean called upon wind, water and lighting in a mighty storm.

Stopping him at that point would be more dangerous than letting him continue.

Castiel wished he could stop him.

Dean continued to chant, the magic growing heavier in the air around him. Ready, charged to act as it’s master ordered.

Dean lifted his hands, calling upon the storm with a final order.

Castiel watched as a bolt of lighting struck nearby, the thunder roaring above them. It was deafening. It was magnificent. Dean was too.

The rain fell. Heavy drops that quickly soaked him to the bone. Finally he was pulled out of his mind and back into his body.

Dean turned towards him with a wide, triumphant smile around his lips. Castiel had never seen him look so alive, so beautiful. His face was lit up by lightning bolts, his features wild even covered in rain.

Castiel finally ordered his legs to move forward, towards Dean.

The smell of ozone was stronger closer to his student.

No. No, Dean was no longer his student. Castiel did not need to think of him that way anymore. Dean was his equal, possibly his superior in some areas.

Dean was free.

Yet he chose to stay when Castiel moved closer. Chose to open his arms to welcome Castiel.

“Do you still wish for this?” Castiel asked, loud enough to be heard over the thunderstorm.

Dean didn’t answer, just nodded.

Castiel was not sure who kissed whom first. Their lips met, cold and wet from the rain. Dean tasted like ozone, like thunder and storms and freedom.

…

It was not until they both started shivering in the rain that they moved back inside. Water was dripping from them, leaving trails as they moved towards Castiel’s chambers in an unspoken agreement.

Their hands were intertwined. Castiel enjoyed the simple contact, to know that Dean was his like that, that he would no longer have to hide how he felt or feel guilty about it.

Once the door closed behind them, Castiel crowded Dean against the door, kissing him hard like he had fantasized about so many times.

It was better than he had ever imagined.

The room was warm, the fireplace having been lit. Castiel would later wonder if Dean had been the one to light the fire before going outside, as he had not done so himself.

But then it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Dean was conscious for this round of undressing. When Castiel dragged the wet clothing off his beautiful young mage, he was allowed to kiss the skin exposed and admire Dean the way he had been created to be admired.

“You are beautiful,” Castiel said.

Even in the low light from the fire it was clear that Dean was turning red as a beet.

“No, I am not.”

“There is no use in protesting. I am going to tell you until you believe me.”

Dean looked like he was about to protest again, but shut his mouth as Castiel landed a gentle kiss low on his stomach.

Castiel had never fantasized about going down on Dean, yet here he was, filled with a desire to do exactly that. Take Dean in his mouth and pleasure him like Castiel had imagined it being done to him.

As Castiel dragged Dean’s soaked trousers down his breathing got heavier. God, he was going to savour Dean, taste him finally.

He pressed a gentle kiss to Dean’s erection, enjoying how it made his lover moan low and guttural. With more force Castiel opened his mouth, licking up the shaft, enjoying the bitter-salty flavor of pre-come covering the head of his erection.

Strong fingers intertwined with his hair, begged him to take the erection into his mouth.

Castiel obeyed happily, making sure to cover his upper teeth with spit-slick lips as he went down to the point of choking. Dean let up his hold a bit at that, allowing Castiel to adjust to the intrusion of having an erection down his throat.

Deans’ moans got more desperate when Castiel hollowed his cheeks and sucked hard. Whenever Castiel looked up, Dean was looking down at him, heavily lidded and with parted lips.

Nothing could have turned him on more than sitting naked in his own chambers, satisfying Dean like that.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Except maybe that.

Castiel let go of Dean’s penis with a wet sound before rising to his feet. “Sure?”

“I’ve fantasized about this so long. I’ve never been more certain in my life.”

“Yeah?” Castiel stepped closer, wanting another kiss. He could feel Dean’s erection just beside his own, burning hot against his skin.

Dean kissed him desperately. Like kissing Castiel would save him from a bad fate, like Castiel was oxygen and Dean was a drowning man.

“Yeah.” Dean breathed out heavily when Castiel scraped his teeth against his neck, nipping along the way. “Bed, Cas. Bed.”

Castiel stepped back.

The room felt cold without Dean close to him.

“Do you have oil? It´ll make things go a lot smoother,” Dean asked, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.

Castiel nodded and opened the small drawer in the bed table. It had not taken him long to figure out that oil eased his ways when he masturbated to the thought of Dean, made it feel more like they were there together.

He blushed at that. So far nothing had been the way he had imagined when alone.

Dean sauntered towards him and with a gentle hand on his chest, pushed him down on the bed. “Have you used that, thinking of me?” he almost purred.

Castiel was at a loss for words, so he just nodded in confirmation. It made Dean smile, like he had won something. Like the thought of Castiel touching himself while thinking of Dean was everything he had ever wanted.

Dean grabbed the vial and placed himself above Castiel’s stomach, just north of his erection. Oh god. He wanted so bad.

“I thought of you too. When I was alone at night, I imagined what I would do to you,” Dean admitted, pouring oil into his hands. “I imagined it was you fingering me open, touching me.” He bit his lower lip. It was driving Castiel crazy. He wanted to be the one biting Dean’s lips gently, until they were swollen and red and spit slick like he had so often imagined.

Yet he could do nothing but stare as Dean leaned forward and placed a hand on his chest, supporting his weight with one hand and on his knees as he reached backwards. Castiel could not see what was going on, but he could feel Dean’s hot breath on his neck, hear him pant, hear the sounds as he fingered himself open.

“Can’t wait to feel you in me,” Dean whispered it in his ear sinfully before kissing Castiel’s neck and jawline, making his skin feel as if on fire.

Castiel had never been that turned on in his life.

Dean continued to finger himself, adding more oil on occasion.

It got increasingly difficult to just lie there, but every time he tried to move, tried to touch, Dean made a disapproving sound until he stayed still. There was no doubt that the young mage was entirely in control of what happened.

Castiel fucking loved it.

Dean started kissing him for real, his tongue gliding wet against Castiel’s lips, demanding them to open. And he did willingly, allowing Dean to devour him and use him as he pleased.

His erection was throbbing almost painfully, hips begging to move, to fuck into the tight wet heat he imagined Dean would be.

And Dean finally sat up, moved backwards so Castiel could feel the warm glide of his well lubricated ass against his dick. His young lover was smiling, moving his hips back and forth.

Castiel was unable to think straight when Dean moved backwards. Cool oil met his overheated erection, and he hissed at the sensation. It was by no means painful, but unexpected.

Like he had so often imagined Dean took him in hand and let his hand move up and down gently, almost not gripping, coating him in oil until his member was dripping with it.

Then he changed position again, lining the head of Castiel’s erection to his entrance before sinking down, slowly. Castiel was unable to do anything but stare, admire Dean’s strong thighs as he moved with grace, his penis, standing proud in front of his balls. How he blushed adorably, how his lips parted in a sigh once he was fully seated.

Castiel could have sworn he had never felt anything as good as being inside Dean, feeling his warm body around his.

Dean leaned forward, supporting himself with a gentle hand on Castiel’s chest as he appeared to adjust to the intrusion.

“Fuck, this feels so much better than I’d ever imagined it would,” Dean said hoarsely.

Castiel reached up, a gentle hand around Dean’s neck, begging him to come closer for a kiss. Flexing his abdominal muscles it was easy to meet in the middle. There was something sweet about the kiss, something gentle and in contrast to how he was buried balls deep inside Dean.

“You are perfect,” Castiel replied.

Dean smirked at him, as if to say that Castiel had not seen perfect yet, but would. And as if that were a promise he started to roll his hips, gentle at first but soon picking up the pace. He allowed Castiel to place a hand on his hips and thrust upward to meet him.

“Oh, Dean,” he moaned.

Dean gasped above him, and sped up just a bit.

He was not going to last long, not at that pace, not when Dean looked so utterly perfect and so utterly fucked.

“Feels so... oh…” Dean gasped.

Castiel did not reply, but he could feel the pressure building low in his belly and around his groin. The sounds Dean made were going straight to his erection.

He wanted to feel Dean come around him.

At first his hand around Dean’s erection was gentle, until Dean moaned something sounding like ´harder`. Castiel tightened his grip as he jerked Dean off. He loved how it made Dean’s movements more uncoordinated, that he could affect him that much.

“I’m gonna…” Dean moaned, and that was probably the hottest thing Castiel had heard all evening. When Dean started clenching around him as he orgasmed, Castiel was unable to hold back any longer. He stiffened as he emptied himself inside Dean, feeling the warmth from where Dean’s seed hit his hand and chest, where it was running over his fingers.

Castiel was gasping for air heavily, slowly making his grip looser around Dean’s wilting erection, knowing how oversensitive it could be afterwards.

Dean leaned towards him again, kissing him blindly and lovingly.

“I love you, you know that, right?”

“I know,” Castiel confirmed, running the hand not covered in Dean’s semen through Dean’s hair in a loving manner. “I love you too.”

“And you have for a while.”

“Yes.” He found that he was smiling.

“Do you want me to stay?” Dean asked, and all of a sudden he looked insecure in his nakedness, like he would rather be covered up for that conversation than naked and with Castiel’s softening penis inside him. Castiel couldn’t really fault him for that.

“I would love nothing more. This is your home too, Dean.”

Dean nodded with a bright, yet tired smiled covering his face.

Castiel cleaned them both gently. They fell asleep curled together, Castiel holding Dean from behind. With Dean being a bit taller it felt a bit awkward at first, but he found that he quite enjoyed it.

By unspoken agreement Dean moved his things into Castiel’s chamber the next day. Somehow it felt right for both to be back in the same chambers they had started in.

Castiel developed a sniffle from having been outside in the storm too long. Dean promised to never perform such dangerous magic tasks alone again, especially things he had barely understood when reading about it. Maybe he just said it to make Castiel feel better, after all he was a horrible patient. 

Even if that was the case, Dean kept up his promise and let Castiel teach him once he was well again. 

Dean in turn taught Castiel how to be a better man. 

**The end**

**The end**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought in the comments below. 
> 
> Thank you to the mods for running the wonderful destiel harlequin challenge. Thank you for reading. 
> 
> Let me know if there is a tag I should add!


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